I had to really dig deep and dwell on the meaning of what a “Father” is to me and in pop culture today. I turn on the E! Network (which is, admittedly, my one and only news source… and I consider it a legit one, at that) and I am inundated with stories of which celebrity is becoming a father by his supermodel girlfriend, a couple of father/daughter celeb feuds, and other similarly un-fascinating news to the rest of the world (yet, highly fascinating to yours truly). Then something happened to my own Father.
Being the man that he’s been for the 28 years that I’ve known him, my father tried wrangling a cottonmouth snake and was bitten- not once, not twice, but multiple times (pretty sure the thing just wanted to eat his hand). Thinking it wasn’t a big deal, and being the guitar pickin’ man I love, Daddy decided to just get back to his guitar and ignore the throbbing and swelling in his right hand. Having been essentially forced to go to the emergency room, my father was informed that not only could he have died had the venom gotten any closer to his heart, but he was still at high risk for losing his hand.
His livelihood.
My father is a musician. He is a painter. His hands are what put food on his table. They are what put food on our table growing up. At the thought of my father losing the one thing that seemed to bring him joy (and a paycheck) to his life, I just kept hearing in my head that song “Daddy’s Hands”. Holly Dunn. Good song—if you can stomach 80s country, which I easily can. Continue reading “An Essay on Fatherhood”
