Why I write about the man in cowboy boots

My dad was a feed store man in the Great Valley of California. He was a country boy from the South Dakota plains, and he always had what he called “cowboy music” playing in the background. He wore a Western bolo tie when he wanted to dress up, and I don’t think he ever spent a day without his feet in cowboy boots.

I loved hanging out with my dad

I loved riding my bike down to the feed store to hang out with my dad after school. One of my favorite things to do was play in the hay barn, which was packed to the rafters with bales of green alfalfa. It was hot and stuffy in there, and my nose was always full of dust. I wasn’t supposed to play with the hay hooks, but I taught myself how to use them by watching my dad. Even at seven or eight, I was strong enough to throw the hooks into a bale and pull it into place to make myself a fort high up near the tin roof, which popped and cracked in the hot sun like shotguns going off all afternoon.

I always liked it when I got my fort made and a customer backed into the barn. My dad came down and loaded up hay bales — or maybe threw some straw or salt licks onto the truck and said to the farmer, “Take it easy now,” and the farmer waved and pulled away. Then Dad went up to the front of the store, and nobody knew I was hidden away in my fort, lying up there on a horse blanket, sipping a grape Nehi long gone warm and flat. I spent hours by myself up there, sitting in my fort thinking about things, smelling the summer in the back of my dad’s hay barn, wishing I had a horse to feed all that hay.

What does this story mean?

Well mostly, it’s just a memory. It’s nostalgia. And writing it makes me feel closer to the dad of my childhood. That’s not to say that we didn’t have our differences as I grew older, and that we weren’t actually estranged from one another for quite a few years while I was working my way through a protracted adolescence. This sweet memory just makes me a smile. And in writing about my dad, I’m reminded of some things about my own young self. Oh, see here. I’ve always been comfortable spending time alone, building myself a sanctuary, and lying back to dream. 

Opening our hearts to something new

There is always something to learn from a “father story.” Whether you’re estranged from your father, sharing his life today, or missing his presence on this earth, writing can be healing and empowering as you sift through the complexities of one of your oldest relationships.

What do you remember about your dad?

I’d love to hear from you.