Remembering Dad

Looking at his cap, with its faded black material, frayed Hartz Trucking logo, and patented ‘teepee’ folded brim, I knew how I would always remember him. It was the same image I watched when I was ten, too small to lift and stack hay bales by myself. So I had to drive the 730 and watch Dad. In my mind he would always be a tall, sturdy man, entrenched on the teetering and lurching hayrack. Pale blue eyes inspecting the field. Forehead etched with deep wrinkles. Eyes shaded by the peeked brim of his cap. Bald head protected from the scorching rays by the cap. The skin at the base of his skull baked to a perpetual scorch mark, where the cap was buttoned and exposed skin. The corner of his mouth gripped a glowing, filterless Pall Mall. His breast pocket of his light cotton shirt housed the rest of the rumpled pack. Hair on his broad chest and chiseled forearms cluttered with alfalfa leaves. Huge hands protected by scuffed leather gloves. His right hand clenched a red bail hook. His lower waist tried to cling to tattered and patched Levi’s. Nonexistent rear and white Hanes briefs exposed by his sagging jeans.

That is how I will always remember Dad.