Dad Casting

Casting. In my awakening, the path of illumination has taken me back to my roots, returned me to my familial heritage and made me miss my parents, whom I am immensely blessed to have.

The title for this post comes from my dad; he is a survivor and fighter, and one in every sense of the words.

Way before I began school, I hung out with dad, playing under his work desk, with a social gathering of dolls and green army men, depending on if my brothers were out of school. Dad never complained about not actually using the portion of his desk allotted for his chair nor about the wardrobe of doll sized pink and lacy dresses of various lengths, plus hairbrushes, which always found their way where his chair should be.

Once, I remember hearing footsteps approaching his office and knowing they weren’t his, I froze in great anticipation of this villain daring to come aboard our ship, of which dad as captain commanded from his desk helm. I imagined him opening his collapsible brass telescope and gazing into the sunny and vast wild blue yonder; the sea breeze causing the golden fringes of admiralty attached to his navy captain’s uniform to sway back and forth, in agitation of more pirates or looming sea urchins of enormity beckoning for a cannon filled duel. I was ready and knew dad was too.

Click clock, click clock came the sound of, could it be heels? Heels across our wooden deck? Appalling. Suddenly, as I held my breath, this pair of black heels came into view from my place below deck; my eyes narrowed as I decided this was not friend but foe and rightly sentenced this intruder to walk the plank. Lucky for her, she left before I could hand deliver my sentence to the captain.

From that early age, my dad taught me how I was to be treated, loved, respected, minus trying to change me or mold me into someone I wasn’t. He and mom taught my brothers and I to be ourselves, quirks and all, and we always knew we were loved and accepted, just as we were. My parents and brothers are the ones who encourage my imagination, so you can take it up with them. But don’t be surprised if they regard you with amusement.

From the time I was a toddler, I remember dad’s love of fishing. One of my very first memories is with my dad; we lived on the coast and he pastored a church of which lots of the flock were fishermen. Two of his confidants were named Mack and Herman, these two characters fit their names to a tee. Mack was a tall Native American, Herman was an average European descendant; Mack was laid back and easy going, Herman was a man of short temper, yet both of these men in their caring ways had taken to my dad as any sane person would.


My first memory of my dad includes Mack and Herman and the ocean, dad and I love. One morning, dad woke me early, I’m sure there was a gleam in his eyes for he and I were headed towards our Eden – the beach. For months I had seen dad working on and painting a green boat, applying letters and numbers to its hull and the day had come for him to test his Mona Lisa. Herman pulled up in his little truck, Mack was riding shotgun (I’m not sure how he folded himself to fit in the tiny cabin); together they attached the boat to the hitch, dad climbed in the truck next to Herman and dad handed me to Mack as he climbed in the driver side. I’m not sure who held my entourage of dolls that day but Mack held me while Herman changed gears upon dads clutch presses. Oh, to have a camera to capture those moments.

We arrived to the beach and were met with a heavy, thick, semi dark fog as the sun hadn’t quite risen; the tide was out and I watched as the green boat made her way to the shore. I could hear the waves crash and taste the salt in the air, but that was as close as I could get; dad cleared a place near the dunes for me and sat me down with my dolls on their maiden ocean outing. He very plainly told me to not come near the water and to call for him if I needed him, he would come to me, not the other way around. I listened and thinking back on that moment, I realize how much my dad trusted me to obey one simple task, another life lesson he was teaching me: trust. I could trust him and he could trust me, simple as that.

I don’t recall much more that day other than being mesmerized with the dark figures of dad, Mack and Herman casting nets and making their ways along the foggy shore in the green boat. I did not feel threatened or scared because I knew dad was right there. He has always been, right there.

As I’ve watched my dad live his life and deal, he has never wavered in my mind as strong and worthy; I’ve watched him cast his own net into the life he’s been given, sometimes catching the big one, other times pulling up mucky drudgery of mean spirited people. He’s always taken the high road while defending his family and his beliefs.

I’ve watched him cast his net into different circumstances we’ve faced, both personally and as a family, we never knew what lie ahead. That is courage; that is my dad. I love you dad!



Thanks for sharing this wonderful memories of your early childhood with your father and His friends. Learning to listen and trust is a great life lesson. Your kind father has taught you well. Blessings on your journey.

that’s really good

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