He was born in the 40’s to a family of 6 boys. He went to school in Oklahoma City with segregated water fountains and went home every day to a house in the “black community”. His views of other races are still constrained by his childhood, but I am proud to say in 2008 he voted for a black man as his President. When an early form of Taco Bell came to Oklahoma City, he and his friends threw a full pack of firecrackers into their chimney. He dropped out of school in high school and walked through lines of protestors to join the Army. During his time in Vietnam, he was a member of a gun truck team. His truck was named after the song “Bad Moon Rising” by Credence Clearwater Revival and he never can listen to it without telling a war story to whoever will listen. I don’t need to divulge any of the details of what he did while in Vietnam, because if you are even remotely aware of the carnage done by our troops you will have an idea. He returned home with some medals to a country that hated him. He worked as a truck driver and met my mom on a blind date. I could listen to my dad tell the story over and over. Sitting in my living room as a little kid and listening to my parents and brothers and sister, account how my parents met is one of my favorite childhood memories. I have pictures of a tall, lean Larry Cross with jet black hair and a full, matching mustache holding a drooling, bubbly, human (me). He has a tattoo on each forearm and for that reason alone he forbids me from getting tattoos. He raised me on Buddy Holiday, Elvis, and Hank Williams. He bought rusted, old Ford trucks and surprised my mom with them. He used to spend 5 days a week on the road and while he was gone, I would wear his shirts that smelled of sunshine and tobacco. He proved he never forgot about me while he was gone by bringing home turtles, bats and other animals he found during his time on the road. We spent Saturday mornings watching Popeye, Gunsmoke, and MA.S.H.. He would buy me plastic swords and I would run around the living room smacking him, laughing and yelling “Asshole” at the top of my little lungs. He taught me to shoot a BB gun and how to appreciate the calm and quiet of fishing. To some, my dad may be of questionable standings, but through his triumphs and weakness, he has taught me what it means to love others fully and to never let go of the people who love you. Because of his life experiences, I am firm in my pacifistic beliefs, firm against racism, fully committed to being the best wife/ mother some day and can tell an inappropriate joke like no other. My dad has always told me I am the most important thing in his life and for that reason alone, I refuse to be nothing but a success. My dad isn’t perfect and sometimes he falters in his duty as a father, but I have never once doubted his love for me. I hope that one day I can love with such an intensity and show my children how important that is.
Thanks Dad. I owe you so much.
P.S. This picture of my parents and I just makes my day. That's our dog Betsey and my cat Peter Towshend creeping. I am real dang lucky.
