Okay, I'm staying up late cause I want to write. And by late, I mean all night. Who needs sleep anyway? Plus, I'm inspired, and half insomniatic anyway, so I don't really care.
Guys, I'm totally dressed like a skank right now... my shorts are SO short, and my shirt is a Victoria Secret shirt... Like... It's a blue version of the red one I wear when I'm on a boy mission of the "I'm going to make you regret what you did to me" variety. That sounds bad... I just feel like I look stereotypically hot when I wear it with a push up bra and skinny jeans and all...
Too much information? Eh. I'm an open book...
A photograph is a funny thing... The same picture can mean so many different things according to the beholder. Some people would see the crumpled photo in Kendall's wallet as something that needed to be replaced. For people like Carlos, Logan, and James, it would bring up vague memories of learning to skate and hikes through the "wilderness" that actually turned out to be off the beaten trail bike paths no more than five yards from the paved road. For Katie, it lacked imagery but held more preciousness than anything money could buy. But Kendall...
Well, Kendall saw more than all of them.
See, it wasn't just a picture of his dad. It was a picture of his childhood, of memories, of happiness and security. The little photo brought flashbacks of smiles and laughs. It made him see things.
He saw long rides in the car. Rides that weren't long because of the distance of the destination, but because of how absorbed the driver got in the music playing. He saw looping trips around the neighborhood as the CD ran through with waves and smiles to those passing by through all of his father's singing. He used to get so lost and turned around, but they always made it home.
Kendall saw half drowning at the beach, being let go of in favor of protecting little Katie from a mammoth of a wave. He remembered ignoring his father for an hour, mad at him for leaving him to the mercy of the ocean despite knowing he didn't have a choice. He had pouted moodily in the car he made by digging a pit in the sand, only to get over it and go back into the freezing surf when the sun got too hot.
He saw a blurry image of watching his dad get his hair cut. He remembered little Katie sitting next to him on a little kid stool in another chair, they had wanted to sit in a seat like him instead of their double stroller, and listening to their daddy talk to the hair dresser he had followed from barber shop to barber shop as she got fired or let go. He didn't remember her face, but Kendall could recall her lifting them up into the seat. But that was only because he remembered feeling weird when it wasn't his dad picking him up.
Kendall saw boring class field trips made interesting by his father's chaperoning. He was the one with the dad all the kids thought was cool, and he was immensely proud of his daddy for being so awesome. It was strange, though. Mr. Knight had always managed to be completely engrossed by every tour guide, he loved history, but still cracked jokes to him and his friends the entire time.
He saw hilarity in general. From the name of his dad's first car, GLC (AKA: Ghetto Landlord Cruiser) to the story about his dad and his uncle covering up their laughter at a funeral by fake crying, Mr. Knight was hysterical. He still remembered the stories his dad told him about hitting the water tower with a baseball, finding the guy who kept hitting the fire alarm in his college dorm, and getting wicked sunburn on senior week of college that was nothing compared to his neighbors at the hotel.
He remembered stories about some kid named "Angelo". He remembered going to sleep after hearing how he forgot to tie the food up in a tree while camping and going to the circus. It wasn't until he was seven or eight when he figured out "Angelo" was actually his dad. Well, that was still a theory. He never actually confessed it.
There was also "Mr. Sweenie". He was just this little guy his daddy made with his fist, always saying "I love you, I love you!" and then kissing them all over. Kendall remembered sticking his fingers into the mouth made by his dad's thumb and index finger and laughing as Mr. Sweenie tried to talk around it, his voice muffled. He mostly remembered the goofy face his dad used to wear as he did it.
He remembered the nicknames and the little things. He remembered being called "Kendall Knighty-Lighty!" and being told to "GIVE ME DEM FEETSEZ!" He could still see his dad leaning across the frame of the doorway and pretending to tell him and Katie something as they brushed their teeth and sticking his previously hidden arm into the light and making it grab his head, faking him being dragged off. He remembered him closing his eyes and pretending to be blind. "Just open your eyes, daddy!"
There were all the games, too. Like, "Kick Daddy Off The Couch", and "Jump On Daddy With A Running Start" and "Human Blanket". And then ones his dad would play on him counted, too. He would always pretend to grab his arm and eat it like corn on the cob. "I NEED A NIBBLE!"
He saw his dad drawing circles on his knee and lightly tugging on his hair. "Round ball, round ball, pull your little hair." Then he would karate chop his arm. "One slice, two slice." He would always finish off with "TICKLE EVERYWHERE!"
Holiday traditions also managed to stand out in his mind. There were, of course, turkey impersonations over Thanksgiving dinner, ranging from "Turkey In The Oven" to "Turkey Under Water". His favorite had always been "Turkey on Thanksgiving." Mr. Knight somehow managed to pretend a turkey disguising his voice as a chicken's to not get eaten. It was genius. Then, on Christmas, they opened stockings on his and his mom's bed, but before presents his dad would always go down stairs to check for Santa, shouting up that he had just seen him leave and he had reindeer poop to clean up off the deck as he started a fire. He remembered jelly bean trails to his Easter Basket.
He remembered dippy eggs for breakfast, cooked so they'd break and run all over his plate like he liked them. He also remembered dippy eggs for dinner when his mom was away.
There were hugs goodbye before business trips, positive talk about the Atkins diet, playing foursquare in the summer until late, trips to the pool, amusement parks, the scent of coffee in the mornings, getting picked up from school when he was so, so, so sick in fifth grade and the nurse wouldn't stop chatting away about the use of cell phones in the high school to her friends, boring talks about the civil war, life lessons that popped up out of nowhere, math quizzes in the car, watching American Idol, messing up the way he said his 's's...
And sometimes Kendall hated it. He hated how there was only good things. There were only good things all the time, and it just made him miss him that much more. Sometimes he wished he could think of just one time when his dad made him cry or yelled at him and never apologized, but he couldn't. Sometimes he didn't want to open his wallet cause he couldn't stand to see his picture there and opted to go smoothie-less as all his friends sucked down girly, but yummy, pink ones.
Cause there was a lot to miss about Kendall's dad.
So it's time to get real. (Not like above, a different kind of real). I have two uncles in the ICU right now, and if I told any of you, yes, it's the same two, and, yes, it's been about three weeks now. Ugh. Anyway, I was riding home with my dad in the snow last weekend (I can't believe it snowed in October) and I thought about loosing my daddy like my cousins might loose their's, so... I wrote this pretty much about him. These are all Mr. Brunette things.
And inspirit of daddies, like Father's Day, instead of reviews, I'm asking for happy daddy stories because they make me smile.