Memoir 3

There was a nice stretch of living between ages 3 and 5 where la mere was busy with her blue-eyed baby boy and my dad and I hung out more. He read me comic books from a box in the cellar. I don't know if they were his, or if they had come with the farmhouse when he moved in and the previous people moved out. They were discovered treasure to me. 
They were mostly cowboy comics, way more interesting than the little storybooks la mere read every evening at bedtime like a ritual, so boring by the 10th time through. Then she would demand a goodnight kiss, as if we were close or something. Which I did not feel we were. She was training me to submit and I never liked it. 

Anyway, enough about her.
This time it's about my dad. 

I had always liked him. He never was mean to his baby daughter. He let me climb up on his lap every evening when I had finished eating but he still had not. He let me taste anything on his plate I seemed interested in, even if it was horse radish or something too strong for a naïve palate. He let me try. My body liked being in contact with his. He felt strong and warm. 

He read me cowboy comics and my mind ran wild with made-up cowboy stories that I produced, directed and starred in, running around the yard barefoot, riding pretend horses, fighting pretend foes, bad guys, mean people. I was given toy cap guns with a holster, a cowboy hat, and a little fake buckskin jacket with fringe along the sleeves and around the hem, which I wore to death. 
My dad watched me play, and decided to indulge me more, by building me a teepee behind the house, from fenceposts, with an old cowhide (which we pretended was from a buffalo) tossed over the side where the sun came through hardest. My playing was taken to new levels. He made me a bow and arrow. It didn't work, but hey, child imaginations don't see that as any issue to worry about. 
I finally had a way to play with the accumulation of boring dolls. I took all of them out to the teepee and they became my prisoners.  
Looking back now, I really appreciate the time he took to observe me and nurture my imaginings without comment or judgement. I had a lot of fun. 

Then it was time to start school. 


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