My Dad died in April of 2003. His name is Richard Red Hawk. He was an interesting and complicated man. And he definitely didn’t get everything right during my growing up. But his failings helped to shape him into the old, wise man he became before he died.
My dad took custody of his young children in the mid/late 1950’s when the idea of a mother leaving or a father having full custody was a rare thing. But he did it anyway and spent the next 20 years flailing his way through five marriages and A LOT of alcohol. He stopped drinking shortly before I left home at 18, sent off with a one-way train ticket and a suitcase from the reservation in Montana where we had been living. When he stopped drinking he refocused his attentions to the questions of life he carried in his heart and spirit. When the last child had been launched into the world he ended his 5th marriage and began his final journey to find the answers to those questions. Part of the answers came through his marrying my stepmother Donna. She was without question the quietest woman he had ever encountered or married. She helped to bring stillness into his life and in that stillness he found some peace and direction. It was his longest marriage as well lasting 25 years. I am eternally grateful to her for being part of that peaceful place the he sought.
My days growing up with the less peaceful version of this man were interesting and crazy. We moved often and wildly around the western half of the US. Sometimes in Colorado, sometimes in Washington State, sometimes just wandering back and forth between the two. We lived in motels, we lived in mountain cabins, and one early summer we lived in a station wagon named Maxfield Parrish, after the painter, because the car was a myriad of blues like the paintings that Parrish created. We lived in big fancy houses and cute little bungalows, and once in an apartment where the only furniture we had were our sleeping bags and a little table made from scrap lumber that was just high enough to sit around on the floor. At night we sat cross-legged around that table and drew pictures on it with colored pens by the light of a camping lantern. And in between all these “adventures” as he liked to call them, he married and divorced and married and divorced and married and divorced and married and divorced and he drank. It was a constant and unnerving roller-coaster for us kids. But we held on for dear life and tried to enjoy the ride, screaming inwardly when the ride hit the curves at a high velocity. I now know that I wouldn’t have missed the ride for anything in the world. It helped to shape him and it definitely shaped me. And just as I followed the deep and wide stride of his footprints through the Colorado snow, I now follow his advice the best I can. Because you learn some serious lessons about life when it’s messy and complicated and bumpy and fast.
People are often asked, especially around Father’s Day, “What is the best advice your father ever gave you?” And that’s a good question. Most people don’t have to struggle to find an answer: Work hard in life! Be kind! Treat others with respect! Don’t take any wooden nickels!
I don’t have to struggle either.
My dad wrote this on the inside cover of a book that he gave me when I was 18:
The most important thing I can give you, I already gave to you: Life
What you choose to do with that gift is up to you. Don’t screw it up.
I admit I have indeed screwed things up along the way. But I have appreciated the gift of life he gave me. And if I learned anything from him at all it would be that it’s OK to screw things up as long as you fix what you break. He fixed what he broke over the years. He repaired all the damaged relationships but mostly he fixed himself and became a truly lovely man with a lot of wisdom and kindness to share. He showed me that redemption is possible, that it’s never too late to try something new or to do things better then you did them before.
In my cell phone it still says Dad next to the number that belongs to his house in Canada. When my step-mom calls me from there my phone lights up and says: Dad.
And for just a split second my heart takes an excited leap and I think I will hear my favorite words when I answer that phone, ‘Hey my girl! It’s Dad.”
Thank you Dad for all the adventures. It wasn’t perfect but it got me this far. And I still see some of your footprints ahead that I need to follow.
A Blue Cape Cod 
Love this Vicki.There is always something to learn.
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Ain’t that the truth – We can’t say that life gave us boring fathers!!!
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Wonderful Vicki, especially when your father gave you a book and he wrote for you wonderful words. The most important thing I can give you, I already gave to you: Life, what you choose to do with that gift is up to you. Don’t screw it up.
My father dies many years ago, I was 32 (now I’m 50) I didn’t speak a lot with him, was so difficult.
My father couldn’t write well, made many grammatical mistakes. He doesn’t read books – was a pity, I like to read it – sometimes on Sunday morning he used to read a newspaper. He taught me however many things.
My father left me a note written by himself when I was a student in London, advised me to be a good girl, to study and find the right job for me. He was an hard worker, and every time I read that note my heart warm.
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