![]() And the coarse drifts of his hair in my hands, shiny black hair cut in layers. anchored by the strong pressure of his fingers around my ankles. He must have carried me on his shoulders a time or two-I remember the hard plane of his chest beneath my calves, the sensation of swaying high in the air. I have only a handful of memories of my father, more like impressions. I guess I thought the strength of my wanting would be enough to make him appear. ![]() No matter how often Mama told me to quit looking for him, I couldn't give up. Some days I stood at the end of the driveway to watch every car that passed. I waited for him for months, sitting at the front window of our house in Katy, just west of Houston. It took me a long time to understand Daddy was never coming back. He fell sixty feet to the platform below and died instantly, his neck broken. But one day he stumbled on an opening in the rig floor before setup was completed. He was a company man who wore a suit and tie when he went to inspect the production and drilling platforms. Daddy didn't even work for the drilling outfit. ![]() ![]() When I was four, my father died in an oil-rig accident. ![]()
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