Dead Men Can't Rebut

I've written about my dad before. Dad was my favorite. As a small child, I thought he was so funny and smart; above all, I wanted him to be proud of me. As a teenager I thought he was a little weird bordering on evil, but I still just wanted him to be proud. He's been dead for 8 and a half years now - St. Patrick's Day. I'm proud of the person I've become; he' d probably like me to be more liberal, less judgmental, but he's not around for his side of the philosophical debate anymore.

So, my daddy. The story goes, mom and dad met at the College of Southern Idaho while both were in Oklahoma (the play, not the state); mom was Ado Annie, dad was Curly. Dad got an associates degree in law enforcement, decided not to be a cop, got married, joined the Air Force, hurt his knee, moved his family back home with his mother. Dad worked as a cashier at the Heyburn Stinker Station, graveyard shift until I was in high school. He would get home around 8 am, just in time to say, "goodbye, be good, learn things" as my brother and I left for school. I guess he'd stay up for a while in the mornings, then he would sleep ALL blessed day and get up for work at 9:30, leave at 10:30. I had a cousin whose dad, my favorite uncle, worked graveyard, but he'd get up around 4pm and actually eat dinner and do stuff with the family. That would have been cool.

We didn't have a quiet home - mom had (HAS) serious volume control issues. My little brother had ADHD, was "special needs," and very loud himself, plus mom yelled at him when he was disobedient. All while dad was trying to sleep or watch TV (which was always turned up very loud so as to hear over the bickering) - so he'd yell to be quiet or get out of in front of the TV - we had a lot of barky dogs, too, and they fought a lot, too. Not many people visited, especially after gramma died. My home life was vastly different after she passed away.

Dad had absolutely no concept about what was appropriate for children and what was not. He was of the mindset that the human body was beautiful and society's "false" modesty was Puritanical nonsense. So he was fine hanging out nude (yeah, is that considered abuse now?), he had porn lying around in his room, in the bathroom, anywhere he left it. If he felt like watching his Playboy Bunnies Take a Bubble Bath video, he'd pop it in: all those offended (or 14 and uncomfortable with naked women rubbing each other's bosoms) could leave the room. A one TV household, we were, and when daddy was home, he was the boss of it. Ha, My husband and I don't even watch the news with the kids up.

One thing I loved, dad had several poems memorized and he loved to recite. The Raven, The Cremation of Sam McGee, Annabell Lee, To Sit in Solemn Silence. Pretty much anything Poe or Service takes me home, in a good way. The poetry and the music - I wrote before how he played guitar and sang - The House of the Rising Sun, ohmigosh, he rocked it. A few summers back, I was camping with my favorite uncle and he played some of those old song, recited some of the poetry that remind me of my dad - I should go to his house and record them all.

When I was an older teenager, dad and I would stay up late at night debating politics and philosophy and religion. By then he had abandoned Christianity for a unique combination of Norse Mythology and Wicca, called himself a witch, performed rituals to Odin, Thor, and Freya. Divined the future and lottery numbers with a set of Runes and Tarot Cards. Led his coven, a group of outsiders coming together with paranormal hopes and aspirations. Celebrating Samhain,
skyclad. Ug. No wonder I spent so much time on band, choir, drama, debate, speech, work, school, relatives homes, anything to keep me away from that mess. Dad was used to people listening to him, treating him with respect, like an expert on these topics. When I'd discuss religion with him, I'd be frustrated - ill-quiped to defend Christianity, but so not on board with Paganism. It's not that I have an issue with a female god figure or anything (quite the opposite), but my dad incorporated adultery into his worship .. sorry, I mean "poly amorous relationships" and while several marriages were trying to pretend they were all cool with it ... lots of people were upset and angry, using sex to punish and hurt each other - and I was a 16 yr old virgin in the midst of this degrading debacle ... it's no wonder I avoided sex for so long. Everything I knew about it disgusted me. I just wanted to be normal ...

Dad had his first heart attack when I was in 10th grade. He got very depressed, suicidal. I would sit with him and will him to live, make him read Heinlein to me, Stranger in a Strange Land. I'd ask him questions just to keep him talking. I felt like it was up to me to keep him from dying. It was a great burden. Eventually, he met a new woman who shared his love of goddess and I could go back to my shallow teenage life.

Have I ever written here how I found out he was dead? The night before I'd stopped by my parents home. Dad had lost his gas station job not too long after the heart attack and had been selling swords from a kiosk in Burley's pathetic excuse for a mall. His "business partner," who also happened to be the mall manager and husband of my dad's love goddess, gave my dad's kiosk the boot. Dad was drunk and depressed and hopeless. The next day, Greg and I were judges at a high school speech and debate tournament. It was freaking awesome fun, and easy money. We had the speech rounds in the morning, a lunch break, and I had just finished judging my first debate. Mr. Call, the High School Drama teacher, found me and told me a sheriff was looking for me. That seemed really weird.

In some little side office, I met up with this sheriff guy. He asked if I was Brandy Roth. I nodded. Asked if Kim Anderson was my dad. I nodded. Told me he had some bad news: my dad was found dead this morning. My knees gave out. He held out his arm. Greg helped me sit down. It seemed so sudden, like he was ripped out of my life. I had lost a lot of respect for him, but I still loved him, still wanted a daddy.

I often think about the purpose of life. There were plenty of things my parents did wrong, but they brought me up to value intelligence and the pursuit of knowledge. Although he caused me a lot of confusion, I guess being my father's daughter led to a dangerously open mind. I like to think I listen to ideas contrary to what I believe and judge them based on their merit. Al Gore, for instance. And I have a lot of respect for people of other religions, atheists, anyone who wants to be different - I say, tolerate it buddy. So, for those attributes, I am grateful. I know my dad loved me. I sometimes wish my he could have met my kids. Crichton would have informed him of the dangers of smoking. He and Canon would have teased each other mercilessly. Ah, daddy would have loved my little Sagan angel.

Don't smoke, ladies and gentlemen. It's bad for you and you'll miss out on getting to know your beautiful amazing grandchildren. Live a healthy, honest, upright life.