I quite fondly remember as a younger person driving with my father (way before the accident) either on the way up north to our cabin in Hubbard Lake or on the way to my grandparents house in Ocqueoc. We would leave super early in the morning to avoid the rush of the day traffic from Farmington Hills. My dad would always pack his green and silver thermos that contained freshly brewed coffee for the trip. We would take turns drinking from the silver top that doubled as a cup. ALWAYS black with just enough sugar to be a touch sweet but not like syrup. I would pour because he was driving and he would always smile and tell me not to spill it.

I remember this as I sit here at work drinking a cup of coffee. What brought the sudden flood of memory back to my conciousness I don't know. Maybe it is because it was at those times where I actually felt like I fit into my fathers eye of what I was supposed to be. That maybe there was some ideal moments when I could be considered more than the bothersome child that he so made me out to be.

There weren't many times where my father was tender or kind, nurturing, but at those little moments I reveled in the attention because it was just me and him.

When at my grandparents house for the summers... I would often cry that I wanted my daddy when I was in trouble. Why? I truly don't know. I think I was still under the spell, as every child at my age is, that my parents couldn't do anything wrong. Possible it was because I longed for him to be like most other good fathers that I knew and actually take interest in his children. Not just me but also Shelley. Maybe wanting him to accept me and truly love me as is.

I was Never "Daddy's Girl". I Always wanted to be and it never squelched my desire to try to be so.

Alas, everytime that I did do something that was to his liking he would say... "Well there is always room for improvement." So maybe thats why in school as he spent more and more time away with buddies and up north hunting... I stopped trying so hard in my studies. It seemed that the only time when he had anything to say or anytime that he would care was when the reportcards came in.

AND then there was the accident and things were never the same.

I also remember the only time where my dad and I went fishing together. We were going out with one of his buddies from work while we were up north at the cabin. We got up early and went to Oscoda where my dads boat and his buddies were stored and in the water. That morning we were gonna go on his buddy Steve's boat on to the " big lake" Lake Huron.

I was so completly thrilled that I was going. Thought that finally he is maybe taking interest in being with me and doing stuff with ME!

So we stopped in town to grab something for breakfast... and some coffee for dad of course. Mind you I am a kid and donuts anytime sound great. Hell, they still do. But the kicker of it was that my dad let me get ORANGE JUICE. So needless to say the entire trip I was useless cause I puked the entire time. So in other words I ruined my dads time on the lake and wasted the time of Steve and my dad by them having to clean the boat up. Although when we were on the lake after I puked the first time... they started catching really BIG fish.

But those little moments, where I could say that without a doubt maybe my dad loved me just a little bit, is all I have now. Just little memories that pop in and out of my head, haunting me.

I treasure them.



Whiskey