After that last tale, I’ve got one red-faced uncle, one that has yet to weigh in and one I’m fairly confident doesn’t even know the internet exists.
My dad is where I get my wild heart, my sense of adventure and the ability to find humor in everything, no matter the price. Don’t all little girls want to grow up and be just like their dads?
Those 3 goons each hold a piece of him I see every time I look into their Barber eyes and listen to their stories. They combined, are him.
Grief is a weird one. It hits you when you least expect it. Like overlooking a beautiful landscape in the middle of nowhere and I wonder, what would he see? Would it be the same thing that I am seeing? Or would it show him something entirely different? The unknown is what may quite possibly be the hardest thing, he didn’t get to see all the beauty of our country too.
Or is he?
Either way, I sure do miss that guy.
Here’s a little story about my old man. If you knew him, this comes as no surprise. If you didn’t, you missed out on the funniest person with the biggest shit eating grin there ever was. My oldest sister, Andi, told this story best, at his eulogy, nonetheless. I think if I ask her for a copy of it one more time, she may strangle me to death, so this is my version of events. I like living, so, onward.
Now my dad was a tricky one (sound familiar?) he always expected us to make good decisions and know right from wrong. And you never wanted to disappoint him by not doing either. But he would also tell you a crock of shit just to see if you would take the bait. And then lie in wait to see how his plan worked out, laughing behind your back the entire time.
One day he was feeling especially knowledgeable with the help of a few Miller Lites, I’m sure. We were out in the barn, and he started on the subject of us being born with tails. As we’re saddling up our horses, he says, “That’s why it’s called a tail bone. When you were first born, and in the hospital, they cut your tail off before they sent you home.”
As any young girl, you want to believe all your parent’s other worldly advice and infinite wisdom. But this guy…🤦🏻♀️
Fast forward a few years. And then probably a few more. Who knows how long I believed we were actually born with tails and had them cut off at birth. I mean…it was a great ruse. We had Australian Shepherds for the horses growing up and they had their tails cut off, sooo?
Anyway, I remember sitting with both of my sisters in one of our bedrooms and maybe polishing our toenails or listening to the newest Van Halen songs or probably both. Anyway, I commented on how we were born with tails and had them cut off in the hospital as babies. Both of those Dennis Barber offspring howled like the hyenas they are. Sarcasm runs deep in my family. They made me repeat myself, of course as the baby of the 3, I did. And again, with the howling laughter.
I knew I was had. I can’t imagine why I was shy and awkward and unpopular as a kid in school. 🤦🏻♀️ I don’t know if he ever found out how many years he duped me into believing we were actually born with tails. But I’m sure he knows now. You might be thinking, what an asshole, and I’m thinking, good thing I never had a kid. Poor thing wouldn’t have stood a chance with my spectacular (possible) parenting skills.
There are lots of other DB parenting stories where this came from. Like the time we were out in the field, and I said I had to go to the bathroom, and he said, “Just go in the barn!” and I pooped by the feed bin. I didn’t give a shit then (or maybe I did, by the feed bin🤷🏻♀️) and I don’t give a shit now about what people think of the most embarrassing parts of my life. We are all vulnerable, embrace it and love yourself a little bit more for it.
The moral of this story is that my life is what it is because of the greatest man I have ever known. Or will ever know again.
He was mine and I am him. ❤️
