The Music Man

My adoptive father is quite the character and interesting human being. Some folks say, that my tomboyish mannerisms remind them of him. Over the years we never really had too many topics to bond over except music and cars. He likes fast cars, and at times, collects them.

He is not the average car owner, he likes to take care of his cars himself, by shining and polishing every single part of the vehicles. When I was younger people used to pull up next to him just to admire his automobile. As I got older and began driving I would take my car to be detailed by professionals, but, I often found, they were not thorough enough. So, a friendly competition got started between my adoptive father and I regarding who had the shiniest car.

He taught me that if you took care of your vehicles they could last a long time. My meticulous nature is a trait I picked up from him along the way.  Whenever I traveled out and about, people would go out of their way to know who I was because they could not believe a girl owned such a neat, polished and meticulous vehicle.

Another idiosyncracy which I developed from him was my absent minded professor demeanor. He is always making some sort of concoction when it comes to beverages. Whereas, I am often experimenting with various recipes. Anyway, he reminds me of an old fashioned, Italian man, that you would see in Vegas. He likes to dress smartly, he loves fine jewelry and he wears the best in colognes.

I often imagine him driving around blaring his music, “Volare! Ohh. ohh, contare, ooh, ooh…” Except his music comes in the form of Bob Marley. When I am not secretly calling him Mickey as in Mickey Mouse,  I am calling him the Reggae Don.

He is a man’s man. He is not the sort who would go in the kitchen and cook a meal. However, when I was a youngster and my adoptive mother became ill, he would step up and make breakfast, dinner and lunch for me. He even went as far as combing my hair which was a sight to see. Nevertheless, I wore my pig tails with pride although the parted line was crooked.

As I matured and began baking goodies on Sunday evenings, he would be my most loyal supporter. No matter how horrendous my cookies or cake tasted he would say they were divine and invite the rest of the family to partake; which only encouraged me to make tons more of my horrific pastries.

There is also a flip side to him which is, he is a very stern disciplinarian. He will often direct me on certain matters, however if I don’t follow his directives he will say, “You don’t listen so what’s your next move?” Or he will just let me figure it out because he also knows, if he gives me additional advice and it goes awry, there will be a melt down on my part.

Ever since I was a child he was generous with me. He would give my aunts and adoptive mother instructions on what he wanted to buy me as far as fashionable clothing or jewelry. Whenever he gave me presents he spared no expense. He never believed in buying anything cheap. He felt if you made a good investment from the beginning, the product would last a long time.

He is so funny at times, because as a teenager he would rarely have two words to say regarding my antics. He never really voiced his opinions too much on my dress code, except if it was really off the charts he would remark diplomatically, “What is that you are wearing my dear?”

Or he would remind me to always cover up from top to bottom. When my adoptive parents began acting up in my teenage years, I used to make up a story in my mind that the reason they wanted me to leave the house was because there was a mob war and they had to protect the last Jamerican Princess.

Perhaps that is why I started wearing the color black and never ventured to another hue. Most folks would ask me if I was an Italian widow as I got older, but, it was just dramatic, ole me living up to my vivid imagination.

My adoptive father loves to pretend being a Disc Jockey and I relish listening to music. He often kept the family together by throwing lavish parties, and I would help him compile his list of music.

In my life, it has taken four sets of parents to raise me, so to truly understand me, you have to know the people who have contributed to the many facets of my being. I realize that my exposure to them has made me the special person that I am. It seems that all the pieces of my colorful puzzle are needed in order to understand my DNA and complexity.

I think the most important lesson my adoptive father ever taught me was never to let anyone disrespect me and to remember what goes bad in the morning can’t go good in the evening. This phrase means, once someone crosses or betrays you, you cannot trust that person again.

Over the years this phrase has served me well, especially when it came to love relationships.  it  has been my experience, that once the link of a partnership becomes weak, there will always be a deficit between the two people involved. Anytime I have ever second guessed my relationship decisions I often lived to regret changing my mind…….