I know from experience how important a father is to a daughter. I look
back and I know exactly the things my father has instilled in me.

***
I sit at my kitchen table staring at a magazine. The model on the front
is so gorgeous. I squeeze my stomach and touch my nose as my dad
takes notice. He puts a hand on my shoulder and squeezes. “Cindy,
you’re much prettier than she is on the outside and I’m sure on the
inside.”

I scrunch my nose, squint my eyes, and look at my father. “No, I’m so
not.”

My dad leans over as he forms a triangle with his fingers. He covers
the models hair so just her face is showing. “Look now,” he says.
Fathers and Daughters

***

Once I have decided that I can handle possible failure, I approach my mother as I hold out the permission slip. “Mom, I wanna tryout for
cheerleading.”

“We don’t have the money.”

I slouch off to the living room where my dad sits. I plop down on the couch next to him about to burst into tears. I’ve already been cut and
I haven’t even got to tryout.

“What’s wrong, Pumpkin?”

“I wanted to tryout for cheerleading, but we don’t have the money.”

“You willing to earn it?”

I instantly look at my dad with excitement written across my face. “Heck, yeah.”

My dad gets off the couch and heads to the kitchen. I wait anxiously for what seems like forever.

Finally, he returns. “You will have car washes at the service station until you earn what you need.”

I jump up and throw my arms around him. “Thank you, Daddy!”

My dad pulls back and ruffles my hair. “I mean it, Pumpkin.”

“I will. I promise.”

I made the squad, and we all participated in the car washes that summer. We did the same during two more summer vacations when
we made the high school squad. None of our parents ever had to pay a penny for anything, not even cheerleading camps. In the ninth
grade our outfits alone cost $300.00 each, and there were five of us.

***
We are at my dad’s service station for the Daffodil Parade. It has always been anticipated in my family. As luck would have it, it always
takes place in downtown Tacoma on Pacific Avenue which is where the service station sits. My dad has allowed a bus full of mentally
handicap kids from Lincoln come down and park at the station to watch the parade. These are the same kids that I work with everyday
for one of my electives.

About half the way through the parade one of the girls from the bus approaches my dad. “I have to use the bathroom.”

“Okay, sweetie. You’ll have to wait a minute because someone is in there.”

The girl starts bouncing. “I have to go now!”

My dad turns towards the bathroom and then looks back at the girl. “Okay, hang on.” He quickly heads towards the restroom only to turn
his head back around to see what all the laughter is about. The girl has squatted at one of the pumps and is about to relieve herself. My
dad is infuriated. He loudly scolds everyone as he runs into the service station to get an old dingy blanket. Upon his prompt return he
and my brother-in-law wrap the dingy blanket around the young lady until she is relieved.

***
I’m showing my dad the deep bruises that run across my back and up my sides. These are bruises that my boyfriend left on me the
previous night; the same night my father rescued me from the back of a paddy wagon and saved me from being arrested.
My dad looks at me with sadness. “Cindy, you are choosing to be with him. Change it.”

***
I’m standing in my front yard with my dad; I’m soon to be married. I ask, “Isn’t that what life’s about, Dad? It’s about the house, white
picket fence, and kids, right?”

“Well, it can be. Life is about what you want. Is that what you want, Pumpkin?”
I fidget my feet, look down, and tug on my shirt. “Yeah, that’s what I want.”

Oddly enough that is exactly what I wanted and pretty damn close to what I have (minus the white picket fence), but there is no husba…
Wait, let me look around… HA! Yep, there is no husband, only an ex. It seems I got what I wanted; I just didn’t want the husband. For
those of you who don’t know me, I earned what I have. I didn’t take it anything from my ex other than an old lawnmower that is broken-
down more than it runs.

Old Ed at Ed’s Small Engine Repair Shop really loves me. Tonight I took another tire up there to have a tube put in. I declared, “Well,
that's number three. There’s only one more left.”

Ed looks at the tire. “Boy, someone really greased ‘er up.”

“Yeah, that would be my ex.” I instantly get irritated. “It’s the only thing I ever got from him…” I pause a moment and smile. “Other than my
son.”

“You got one of them?”

“One of which?”

“Ex.”

“Yep.”

“Them are the best kind to have.”

We both burst into laughter.

I’m the only chick I’ve ever seen at Ed’s Small Engine Repair Shop and the place is always jumpin’. Hey, all you chicks out there that
would like to meet a fellow… check out a place like that. It’s gotta be better than a bar. If you want someone that might be brainy check
out the library. I’ve always preferred the blue-collar type myself.

Cindy Callinsky
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