Daddy issues are a dime a dozen, so I’ll spare you from my refrain. To make a very long story, very short: I will say that I had a dad who was nice to his girls on Birthdays, Christmas and Valentines Day. There was a peace treaty enacted on these days, so we all looked forward to their arrival.
The Halloween of 88′ included a bonus week of Dr. Jekyll suppressing Mr. Hyde. I had decided that I wanted to be Cleopatra that year, and in an odd turn of events, my father took it upon himself to make my costume. Nobody was really surprised as he transitioned from cleaning his Colt 45 to seamstressing. He was a man who could do anything he set his mind to.
I remember going to the fabric store with him (just the two of us). I selected the shiniest metallic fabrics they had (gold, silver and bronze). I watched as he painstakingly threaded wire through rope in order to make pliable snakes. He then, spray painted them gold and drew on eyes and a hissing tongue. In that instance, he loved me, and I felt it through and through.
As I knocked on doors that Hallow’s Eve, nobody knew who I was. I wasn’t embarrassed by the lack of recognition but I was saddened by the fact that my father’s work was going unnoticed.
My dad will never make it in to the “good guys hall of fame” but I choose to remember, I have to remember, the good times.
This year, I’m taking it upon myself to make my own Cleopatra costume. Tonight, I worked on my eye make-up.
I hope that the end result will be this:
Most likely, it will be this:
On a side daddy note: I scored this baseball card from a thrift shop for 99 cents today. My dad grew up with this guy,and he got us all of the best seats while he played for the Houston Astros.