Are you my Dad?
Are you my Dad?
Are you my Dad?
One of my earliest childhood memories is from the summer of 1964. I;m standing in the Allegheny County Court House behind a dark wood, large-spindled railing that hits me about chin height; even though, it's thigh or waist-high on everyone else. Standing with me, on my side of the railing is my Mommy,older brother, older sister and William Francis Bell (That was what they were calling him in this room today; although, I had been told his name was Bill.) There's a man standing in front of the railing, wearing a long black dress (which I thought was a funny choice of clothing), he has white hair above his ears and he asks me, "Do you want this man to be your daddy?" Well, you see, I never remember having a daddy and wasn't really sure what one was. My Daddy had passed away less than two months after I turned three and I had no memory of him.
I also wasn't sure why this man in the dress would be asking me. Was this one of those questions like you Mommy asks you when you've done something bad that you're really not expected to answer? Or was this one of those 'polite' questions Mommy taught me about that people ask where it really doesn't matter what the true answer is? The correct response is always, "Yes, Sir." or "Yes, Ma'am." What really puzzled me most; was this man in a dress just kept standing there, slightly bent over, hand supporting himself on the railing, looking almost eye-to-eye at me, as if he were actually waiting for an answer. I turn to look up at my Mommy. She smiles that fake smile and nods her head up and down. So, I turn back to the man in the dress and nod my head up and down, too. There, that seems to satisfy him as he turns his attention away from me. I guess I did good. After all, what do I know at only four and a half years old? I suppose this means I should call this man "Daddy" and he's going to live at our house. It sounded okay to me.
As I got older, I am told this event was called an adoption hearing; and basically, it was held to change my last name from Reynolds to Bell; so everyone in the household would have the same last name. I still spend the rest of my childhood and early adulthood trying to figure out the meaning of this title of "Daddy". The man who had inherited the position of Daddy in my life was a tall man, on the thin side of average, with a narrow face, and impish brown eyes with long lashes. He always had an I'm-up-to-something look and was quick to laugh. He loved telling funny stories and each time the same story was told, it still sent him into a joyful, sincere chuckle. I found I was useful as a plentiful source to add to his full library of stories.
This guy I called "Daddy" spent a lot of time with me. As I look back and remember, there was something quite remarkable about this man. I was a very small, skinny, painfully shy child that you could pretty much ignore if you wanted. But, Daddy chose not to ignore this little girl. Instead, I remember him asking me to join him in the garage to learn how to rotate tires on the family station wagon. Learning meant that I did it all by myself. I did surprisingly well for as small and skinny as I was. I could loosen the lug nuts, jack up the car, and remove the wheel But then, when I would try to put a wheel back on, I had to get in a squat position, put the tire on my toes and hug it, fully with both arms, holding the top of the tire under my chin. I'd shimmy toward the car and wiggle my toes to get it positioned correctly aligning the holes with the lug bolts. Sometimes I'd fall over in a ball with the tire and have to start over. Daddy tried to suppress the giggles; but he ended up falling over in a ball himself with uproarious laughter.
Then, there was target practice. He couldn't control his giggles again when the kick of the rifle knocked me in the shoulder, leaving me with a pained, surprised look on my face. Loving practical jokes as he did, next he handed me a more powerful rifle telling me, "This one doesn't kick at all. You'll like it better." I aimed and shot at the target. This time, I was knocked to the ground, sending Daddy into a laughing fit. Or there's the time he taught me to ride the Yamaha motorcycle. The first lesson was to have it running, but in neutral, and coast down a hill. Then, I had to try it in first gear; at which time I ended up stuck in a pine tree with the clutch jammed on in the branches and he had to come to my rescue. While we spent lots of time together, I also learned about football as we watched Pittsburgh Steeler games together. I learned to do tune-ups on the cars, change oil, and do body work. I learned wood working and how to identify all the tools. Daddy's the one who taught me to tie my shoes, walk on my toes, whistle through my hands, and how to train a dog. He's the one that taught me how to swim. Well, he tried his best and showed the utmost of patience summer after summer until I was eleven (much too old not to know how to swim). Then, he threw me in the deep end of the pool, where I quickly put my lessons to use and was able to swim.
When I was seventeen, my parents bought me a Volkswagen Beetle. It was a four speed manual transmission and I had never driven before. Daddy took me out to a parking lot that was on an incline and told me, "We're not leaving the parking lot until you can start out in first gear without drifting back." I tried and tried and kept stalling and kept drifting; Until, I ended up in tear. "You'll have to take the car back." I cried. "I can't do it! I can't drive a standard!" Daddy gave me a jestfull punch in the arm and said, "You can do it. And one you learn to drive a standard, you'll never want to drive anything else." I've been driving a manual transmission ever since and did the same lesson with both of my children who are now also undying fans of the standard transmission.
There are so many things I learned, so many laughs, and so many memories with Daddy. That remarkable thing I mentioned earlier about this man that I call Daddy? It was the fact he was so far ahead of his time. You see, another memory I have is going with him to the research department of the University of Pittsburgh where he worked. Long before anyone had ever dreamed up the concept of "Take Your Daughter to Work Day", Daddy was already doing it. I used to tease him about not noticing that he had a daughter. I decided he must have thought I was a boy; but he always knew that skinny scrawny kid was a daughter. The fact was, it didn't matter to him whether I was male or female. Daddy believed there was nothing I couldn't do. For him, I was always smart enough, strong enough, and resourceful enough. Just being who I am was fine with him. It was better than fine. Actually, it was all he ever wanted in a kid -his kid. And after all my years of wondering what a "Daddy"was, there he was all along -right by my side; teaching me everything I needed to know and then some.
Now, what if that man wearing a dress at the court house were to ask me the same question today as he did in 1964? I'd have no doubt about the answer. "Yes", I'd say, " I want this man to be my Daddy. He's the best man for the job."
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