Sunday, June 21, 1998

Kiowa Ann's first genuine Father's Day

By Sharon Randall

Kiowa Ann is 2 years old and she's about to celebrate her first "Otter's Day."

That is "Father's Day," of course, in her language, a tongue she speaks with passion and conviction, babbling on like a filibusterer, about what, I haven't a clue.

Actually, this is not her first Father's Day. It's her third. But the first two don't count because she was just a baby, too little to know how to do big stuff like walking or wearing "pull up" panties or celebrating holidays.

But she's big now, so big and so independent. She knows how to do lots of big things, some she learned from her mom and dad, others she learned on her own. For instance, she knows how to say "please" and "thank you" and "I can do it by meself"; how to pose for a picture or perform for a video; how to open locks that would baffle Houdini.

She knows how to ride a pony without sliding out of the saddle; how to bait a hook without pricking her finger; how to hold kittens without hurting them; how to spit through her teeth without messing up her dress.

She has learned how to get what she wants, when she wants it. She knows that if she cries, someone will comfort her; if she falls, someone will pick her up, and if she doesn't like the taste of something, she can spit it out and make a face and never have to taste it again.

She knows her mother will always make her mind her manners. And her grandmother will always spoil her rotten. And her boy cousins will always splash her in the pool.

She is certain the world revolves around her. That her mother is the center of her universe. And that the sun rises and sets in her dad.

Her ‘datty'

"My datty," she calls him, chanting it like a litany, singing it like her own personal "Ode to Joy."

To her, he's the best daddy in the whole wide world -- a god who'll save her from any monster, real or imagined; who can answer any question, solve every problem, move any mountain, dry her every tear.

Every child ought to have a daddy like that. I did once. When I was little, my daddy could do no wrong. As I grew older, of course, he became more human, less godlike. He's been gone for years, but every Father's Day, when I remember him, he's the daddy that I ran to when I was a little girl. It's a good memory. I'm grateful to have it.

My three children, all in their '20s, lost their dad to cancer this year. This will be their first Father's Day without him, their first time to celebrate, not his presence, but his memory.

They have so many good times, so many good things to remember. It may not be easy for them, but I hope they will mark the day by counting their blessings, by being more glad for what they've had than sad for what they've lost. It is one of many fine things their dad taught them to do.

For some of us, Father's Day is a time to celebrate old memories; for others, it's a chance to make new memories, to store them like treasures for the years yet to come.

I don't know what Kiowa will give her daddy this Father's Day. Let's hope she gives the poor guy a break.

Sharon Randall is a winner of the American Association of Sunday and Feature Editors and the Best of the West commentary awards.

Scripps Howard News Service