Happy Mothers Day, Dad!

In honor of Mothers Day, I am celebrating my Dad.  My Dad fed us, clothed us, gave us Christmas, fantastic summers on the lake and tried his best to do right by us.  There are 5 of us; my 2 sisters, 2 brothers and me, Mary Rose.  All of us loved my Dad and had their relationships with him and I had mine.  One of my first memories of him, he would come home for lunch from the base and slip me a Hershey's bar through the crib slats.  I don't know how old I was, but I think I was to old to sleep in a crib.  He would peel back the wrapping on the chocolate bar and break off a piece for me and for him.  I remember this because our live-in maid would fuss at him for disturbing my nap.  When we first moved to GA we lived on Mossy Creek drive in Marietta, GA, a very small house.  The kids were doubled up in rooms.

I worshiped my Dad for most of my life.  He would walk into the house larger then life with his magnificent uniform on and I would look up at him with awe and sometimes fear.  He traveled alot, so when he came home I would look around the corner at him and wonder what I should do.  As the saying goes, Dad was the kind of man "women loved and men loved to be around."  He was a very masculine man, he was not a touchy feely, mushy man.  But he had a soft side to him.  He commanded presence when he walked into a room, shoulders back, confident, his eyes would survey a room as if to either dare people to look back or invite them to come to him. I know this because I would watch my Dad.  Sometimes, he would meld into the crowded room so as not to be noticed.  People noticed, but they knew he didn't want to be noticed.  As the baby, he was saddled with me quite abit.  If Lulu the maid had to go home, I would get to go the base with him so I would spend time with his secretary Mrs. West on the base.  I loved Mrs. West and I wanted them to marry.  There were alot of women who wanted to marry my Dad, but most didn't take his 5 children into consideration.  Mrs. West was already married.  But I could tell she had a gentle heart and thought the world of my Father.  As a child, any good woman that showed me kindness on a consistent basis I attached myself to like a mistreated puppy.

I remember feeling safe with my Dad.  I knew I was safe! Be it, riding in the car. At the base. At home. At the lake. I feel it deep in my bones at this very moment.  I think his strength oozed out into me whenever he was around; so much so that when he wasn't there that I could walk with his strength and not show my fear to the world.  At some point when I was the child that noticed his commanding presence, I made a decision that I would be like him.  I wanted to walk through life like my Dad.  I aspired to handle the outside world like my Dad.  I have done this!  Only it has taken me most of my life to do it well.

Memories of him teaching me to cook,  mow the yard, clean the boat, how to water ski, showed me his patience.  He was not a man to have a lot of patience, especially stupidity.  As I grew older, I began to notice his flaws and inadequacies, and sometimes they really hurt. After all, he was a man that fought in WWII, a tough farm boy that grew up on the Tennessee river and lost almost everyone he loved in a 4 year period and at the same time  had 5 young children. And he kept all of us together as a family.

He gave me a base foundation of who I am?  The rest is up to me to shed the crap that attached to my heart, by forgiving and loving.  No, he was not a Mom, but he did his best, be it flawed.  I don't know if my Dad ever allowed his heart to love again like he did my Mother.  I am not a Motherless Daughter, as that stupid whiny book says, I had a beautiful Mother, I just never knew her.  I hear stories about her and to some extent I am like my Mother because of the stories of her and her strengths, temper and humor.  But my Dad is the one who took me shopping to buy my velvet penny loafers and a crinoline dress.  I still have the red, navy  blue wool school uniform he picked up in Germany for me when I was 8 years old.  Yes, there was a step monster for a while who would take my sister Carla and I shopping, but we always knew that her daughter was more important.  So when my Dad would take me shopping, I was a Princess.

My Dad, Colonel Carl F. Rudder, Air Force man, Father, farm boy, widower, and instead of Mother, how about nurturer; isn't that what a mother is?

Thanks Dad for being the best Mom in the world!