I Am My Father’s Daughter

I am my father’s daughter. Every time I wonder at the birth of a butterfly I know; I am my father’s daughter. When I look up from my computer and find my surroundings cluttered by books and pens and paper I know; I am my father’s daughter. Every time I find myself “in the flow” I know; I am my father’s daughter. Every time I look down and see that I’ve spilled soup on my shirt I know; I am my father’s daughter.

Dale Adams once described me as an “autodidact” and in true autodidact fashion I ran straight to the dictionary and looked it up. It means “a self taught person”. Gee, I wonder where I got that from?

I wonder how many of you took American Studies from Daddy? I’m sure quite a few of you did. I wish I could pass out just one more blue book and have you answer just one more essay question: How has this class impacted your entire life?

Liz and I were exposed to American Studies long before we were of college age. Sometimes he would bring one of us to class and we’d sit there watching him teach. I’d love to tell you that we were fascinated by discussions about Dorothea Lang and the Depression, or Dr. Strangelove’s illustration of the Absurdity of War, but honestly we were just kids and would rather have spent that day playing outside with Tracey Mendoza, or Ginny Grimsley, or even those icky Adams boys.  He was so involved with his students that we often had American Studies parties in our home. My love of classic films came from that time period. My first teenage crush was on one of his students. I met my best friend in American Studies. I also met my husband in American Studies. The things that I learned and the friends that I made in that class are woven through-out the fabric that makes up my life.

I’m here to talk about Daddy as a family man. I have to say, tho, that “Lee College” and “family” are very inter-mingled for us. The Britts, the Adams’s, the Grimsleys, Lehmburgs, Tillers, Maroneys The Bloomfields, Walkers, Smiths… most of Dad’s colleagues had kids who were roughly our age, and collectively we were known as Faculty Brats! Some of us would put on “talent shows” in the backyard and force our parents to be our audience, (much to Daddy’s chagrin). Billy Don’t Be A Hero was my show-stopping number. We all spent holidays together, family camping trips, canoeing the Guadalupe and the Lower Canyons of the Rio Grande, and wanderings where we discovered hidden treasures in the form of forgotten oases, arrow heads, and hidden waterfalls in west Texas, or seeking strange orchids and mysterious ghosts in East Texas, and just daily, around the table, in and out of each other’s front doors.  While adventuring with Dad and our Lee College family we somehow met an array of notables, such as Caesar Romero in the Davis Mountains, Slim Pickens at the Wimberley Trade Days, and the Real-life Mrs. Pancho Villa!  Now you’re impressed, aren’t you?!

I remember going up to the college with Daddy on weekends and running up and down the empty hallways that smelled of cigarette smoke, pencil shavings and chalk dust, while he retrieved test papers to be “corrected” from his book-cluttered office. Sometimes he’d even give me the test key and let me “correct” multiple choice questions. I remember the smell of red felt tip pens.

We grew up surrounded by people from all walks of life. Hippies, educators, convenience store clerks, ex-cons, artists, poets… he even had a friend who’s name was E. Allen Poe, a true character who once warned me on a late night phone call to never go to Paris because it would ruin my precious innocence.

When I was a senior in high school many of my friends went to Cozumel, or Cabo for their senior trip. I went to Mexico, too, but instead of the beach I went with my dad, and a bunch of other Lee College folks to Copper Canyon. We arrived at the canyon rim via an old Pullman train. Daddy and Dale hired a Tarajumara Indian who wore home-made sandals to guide us along the steep, narrow trails, down through multiple eco-zones into the bottom of the canyon. A true tale of adventure. This was the second time we’d visited Copper Canyon; the first time was when I was 10 years old, and Liz was about 8. Copper Canyon was one of the several stops on the train trip we took with the Adams and Tillers that took us from Chihuahua City all the way to the coastal town of Los Mochis. This is the trip where we met the Real Mrs. Pancho Villa; the one where the Tarajumara children stared through the window and laughed and laughed while we brushed our blonde hair. The one where we hiked through the snow to see the magnificent frozen waterfall. The one where Captain Tequilla took us fishing in the Sea of Cortez and we caught a small, ink-spewing octopus. That was a very big adventure!

You all know that Daddy was a story-teller. Yes, he loved the stories of history. “History is stranger than fiction” was a frequent line of his. But his favorite stories were YOUR stories, the stories of his students and his colleagues. The stories of your achievements, accomplishments, backgrounds… Your stories were HIS stories. And through him, your stories have written on our slates in big, bold strokes.

Liz and I have so many stories to tell too. There is the one of an encounter with a bear that didn’t exist. Remind me to tell you the one about the Jeep wreak on a freezing cold January day in the actual middle of nowhere. And the one where we encountered a goat herder on the Mexican side of the river who offered us some cabrito… spoiler alert; turns out it was the same goat carcass we had seen hanging in a shed, flies buzzing and a bird pecking away at it. Daddy wouldn’t let me try it, but he graciously ate all that was offered to him.

We are who we are because of our mom, and our dad, and our Lee College family, and the people, the places, the knowledge, and the cultures they surrounded us with. The BIGGEST lesson we learned from Daddy was to accept all people on THEIR terms, to honor THEIR journey, try to see through THEIR filters. He didn’t teach us that with words, but he exemplified it in every way possible.

And then Donna came into our lives. Dad and Donna’s shared love of history, political interests, and nature was just the beginning of their story. In her, Daddy found a comfort, a peace, a grace, a soul mate. In Donna he found the love of his life. We could not be more grateful or more blessed that Daddy had Donna. Thank you, Donna. We love you more than words can say. And thank you, Daddy. You are our Atticus Indiana Skywalker Kennedy Attenborough Leakey. And so much more. We love you.