At one of the main intersections near our neighborhood there are always an assortment of people selling things. Bags of fruit, local newspapers or crazy. And there is this new little venture that started a few months ago. It is an older lady who sits under an umbrella with a big tray of red candy apples. Every time I drive past it I just think it is such a bizarre choice. Super hot weather doesn't really entice me to grab a sticky thing on a stick. Unless it is a popsicle.
But outside of that, the candy apples always bring to mind a ton of memories of my dad. The Fair used to roll into Jackson around October every year. Bringing with it smells of cattle and yummy fair food. Chicken on a Stick. Funnel Cakes. Elephant Ears. Taffy. Polish Sausages. Corn Dogs. Since my dad worked for the Dept of Agriculture, he was able to get free tickets into the fair all our life which I thought was such a cool thing. Like he had insider info. So when we were younger, he he would take us in the back gate and drop us off, and we would run off for the rides with our friends. Then there were the nights we were older, and he would take us up to the Biscuit Booth with him.
The Biscuit Booth was on the midway close to the kiddie rides, and it was a place that gave away free biscuits filled with molasses. All the ingredients were supplied by local businesses, and the Biscuit Booth only asked for donations. Anyway, my dad would volunteer his services every year, and us three girls would go up there with him on weeknights to help.
But I didn't help. I was around 13 and in the throws of being too cool to be seen with my parents. So while my dad, Sally & Janie would be up to their arms kneading dough, I would be outside the booth dressed all out...and would just stand there. For hours. I can still remember how sore my back and legs would be after a couple of hours, and how tired I would be of listening to the older gentleman on the microphone repeating over and over.."get your free biscuits here. walk, talk and eat biscuits." Around 11 pm we would call it a night, and my dad would drive us all home along with the big donation jugs filled with coins.
I did help some here. My dad had us girls roll ALL the coins. We would dump them out on the blue carpet in the den and divide them up into piles. Pennies. Nickels. Dimes. Quarters. Dollars. I remember us asking my dad if we could just keep a nickel, and he would say no. Saying even though no one would know we took it, it just wasn't the right thing to do.
I look back at that person I was and am so mad at myself. Mad that I don't have those memories of making biscuits with my dad like Sally & Janie do. Over the past few months, I have wondered what he thought when he saw me stubbornly standing there in the cold. But it is too late now.
It is Father's Day this Sunday. It is the first one in my life that I won't have my dad here to call and tell him how much I love him and that he is the best daddy in the world. If he was here today, I would tell him so many things. But he isn't here so I will write it here.
Daddy. You used to buy me candy apples when I was little. It always made me smile..even today...that after a long night of standing on your feet and us not having much money that you would walk over to a booth, buy me a candy apple wrapped in cellophane and leave it on the kitchen counter for me to find the next morning. I look back at that little gesture and know how much you loved me and would do anything for me.
My dad has been gone 8 months today. I am staring at a photo of him now and my heart just breaks in two. My life is changing so much, and I want to share it with him. I miss him so much.
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