When I Tell Stories

Each morning at 8:00 my dad got up after about four hours sleep. He would go to work. What he did there, he never said. As I grew up I sort of pieced it together. He opened the back door to let in the homeless man who helped with the clean up from the night before while my dad readied the barroom and the kitchen and talked to those folks and farmers who for one reason or another were in a redneck saloon before the sun had hit midday. He also met with the typical sales reps and vendors that venture forth to small town taverns and saloons.

He talked the same to every person who came in. He made each one welcome. He always said, “You’re only a stranger once.” His saloon was his corner store. It was his social life. He went there every day without fail, took a nap, and went back at night.

When I was still small, around 11:00, he’d come home to pick me up. I’d get to go with him while he went on errands, leaving a bartender in charge. We’d go to the bank, the grocery store. Sometimes we’d see his lawyer. Once we even saw the mayor. Everywhere we went it was the same.

“Oh you must be Geno’s daughter.”

“You must be the apple of his eye.”

They’d smile and talk about how smart I was, about my dancing, about how much I looked like him. He wasn’t a talkative man by nature, but he always had stories about me for them. I didn’t know it at the time, but I was learning some important things by watching. I was also seeing important things too. Maybe he told stories so they wouldn’t know that he didn't like to talk.

These people loved my dad as much as I did. You could see it in their eyes. That made me sort of like a princess, because he surely was a king to them. Funny, with my dad, I didn’t mind them talking about me. With my dad I wasn’t shy. . . .

Every day I get up, after four hours sleep. I go to my computer. I don’t talk much about what I do there. I suppose one day my son will piece it together. It’s my corner store. It’s my social life. I meet up with and talk to folks and friends who for whatever reason are online before the sun has hit midday. I come here every day without fail, take a nap, and come back at night. I hope he sees it the same way I saw what my dad did−that folks who pay a visit as a stranger always leave as a friend.

It’s nice to think that my dad and I might be a lot alike.

Come on. I’ll tell you a story. When I tell stories I don’t feel shy.

−me strauss Letting me be