There Are Green Striped Tigers on Okinawa

I've been trying to write this post for like a fucking week now. For whatever reason it hasn't been easy. I know exactly what I want to say, and I think it's something some would like to read. However, I just seem to clam up after about two sentences. So, so far this one's a record breaker.

On February 10 (which as it turns out is today), it will be 3 years since my Dad died. Now, obviously, this has been a trial for me. This year is a big one, since it's the first time I'll be essentially on my own (emotionally) to deal with this. I've grown to be okay with that, but I know it's not going to be easy. I decided that writing a post about Dad could be cathartic, but I didn't want to write something that would bring the reader down.

So I've decided to share some of the funny little things about our relationship that make me smile.

For instance:

Until I was 13 or so, I sincerely believed that there was a species of tiger that was green with black stripes living in the jungles of Okinawa. I only assumed there were jungles in Okinawa ( I still couldn't tell you if there are) because tigers live in the jungle. I believed this because that's what my Dad told me. In my mind the logic was simple. Dad had been to Okinawa and I had not. He was Dad, he knew everything, so of course there were green tigers in Okinawa. I stopped believing him when I was 13, I think that's the time that a normal kid really truly stops believing in Santa. Up until around the time that being a teenager hits you, there's at least a small part of you that still thinks your parents know all the behind the scenes secrets and that what they tell you might have some merit. Around the time that hormones really take over, that shit turns into angsty bitterness and your parents don't know a damn thing until the first time something breaks in your first apartment.
Or the first time you do your taxes.
So, I'm not sure I even stopped believing because of my own ability to figure out how silly the idea of a green tiger was as much as I quit believing because I just started assuming that my parents were stupid and knew nothing.

Dad had tons of stories like that though. He was the son of the man who told him when he was 7 or 8 that if he went out at dawn and bathed in the dew all of his freckles would disappear (they did not however, which I'm grateful for because when I got bored I would play connect the dots on his arm). I think they both took a special pride in fucking with their children's minds in a way that wasn't quite abuse. What was cool, was on the surface these men, especially my Dad, were incredibly serious. Dad would just completely catch you off guard when he was being 'silly' no matter how well you knew him. It could be very endearing. Or infuriating.

My father's way of nicknaming was...unique. It also caught him a ton of shit when I got older. As far as I understand it, it was my Dad who first called me Ryla, which most of my close friends and family call me. However, like many dad's, he also had a special nick name that only he called me. When I was little it was Baby Girl. Very sweet and all. When I turned about 10, maybe even a little younger, he dropped the 'Baby' part off. I don't know if this was at my insistence or not, but I just became 'Girl'. I don't remember ever complaining about it, I thought it was normal. Other people thought it was awful.

 "That child has a name you know!"

Was the general response. My friends mom's were quite concerned that I didn't have a 'woman' in my life (I lived a few states away from my Mom when I was younger) but I had become quite accustomed to being a little Tom Boy and wasn't bothered by the fact that we talked about lean-to's and ways to compost for when Dad was able to go live amongst the wild.

I always told him he was one survival magazine subscription and a couple rooms of canned food away from a stand off with the FBI in Texas...
He was usually the only one that enjoyed that joke too. Twisted fuck.

Dad was also quite stubborn, something I've been told a time or two that I've inherited. When we would both get irritable (which is an adjective my Dad used with uncommon frequency) it was like having two wolverines penned together. We were low about it too. My father and I could treat each other like complete and total shit about the silliest things.

Dog Slobber

We got into a 45 minute argument that resulted in us not talking for like 2 days over dog slobber once. It was insane. It was over whether my cousin should throw away the binki that had been licked by the dog or not. The subject then switched to whether dog slobber was less gross than human slobber. In a fantastic display of diminished intelligence we then argued the magical healing qualities of the substance. Because, someone must be right, all the time.

So - green striped tigers. He eventually told me where they came from. He remembered one in He-Man

Which means, this man, who was very serious...and a little unconventional...had at some point in time sat down and watched He-Man with me. Enough to remember the green tiger in the show. I find that means I was incredibly lucky.

Here we are. The mustache is pretty amazing there.

I know I was very small back then, but I keep thinking that Dad was really into 70's fashion in the late 80's.

I went through 10 years of looking real weird. Dad went through this like, year, looking like a statesman.

 Like I said, that was a short phase.

For the record, he was saying
"Get that damn camera out of my face, girl!"