My Daddy Built an Empire

My daddy built an empire with his tender, 18-year-old hands as he kneaded the pizza dough for $5 an hour for a future free of worries communism was over, and freedom suddenly became the softest slice of life He breathed in the smell of flour - white, wholesome, and heavenly, like the woman who was waiting for him at home, thousands of miles away In the nights he would lay in the baker’s attic, surrounded not by her love but by tens of cockroaches with nothing but a polaroid and a dream 190-hour weeks dragged by as he hit the pavement with the same old white scruffy shoes he’d treasure many years to come going from job to job - waiter, baker, and insurance salesman - to build his empire Nights were spent at the Roadhouse in a tight, red shirt with a notepad and pen, “How are you guys doing tonight?” (Transylvanian accent included) regulars would wait hours to be served by him, the young, charismatic waiter from Romania whose story transfixed audiences and whose charm could make any woman lick her lips in pursuit as for the insurance part, well that’s not nearly as exciting And when the day finally came for my mother and I to join him, I met a man I had not yet known, a man I’d spend the rest of my life hoping I could understand him and hoping he could understand me - my daddy My daddy built an empire at the age of 28 as we rode our bikes to the gas station to get my favorite treat an orange creamsicle and Pepsi in hand, we would walk to the tennis court, where I’d hit the ball too high and he would get frustrated I was always scared he’d die, because he was my daddy and I was 7 and that’s just how little girls think while I was at school, he was insurance-ing my mother’s college and he would spend the nights at the Roadhouse, earning my piano lessons in tips Friday nights and Sunday brunch was our main time together, including the occasional drive to and from school “Did you miss me?” he would say (Transylvanian accent included) How can I not miss the man who sacrificed it all for me? How can I not miss the man I strived to impress? the Super Bowl became the highlight of his year, for he was proud to be an American, American, American Never offer the man a Miller Lite - he only drank Heineken and screamed at each touchdown, cursing at each fumble Every Wednesday we would drive 45 minutes out to the western vineyards where there were gobs of grapes aplenty, fat, juicy, and ripe with anticipation of freedom from the vines I had never felt more free as the orange creamsicle wrapped itself around my face, Guns n’ Roses playing in the background 'There’s a heaven above you baby' arms outstretched as the rain dropped slowly time stood still 'Don’t you cry tonight' My daddy built an empire at the age of 38 as the police sirens raced to the scene, untold stories of crime and life’s burdens reeked in our home, only to be eradicated by the warmth from my 8-year-old sister, pink and plump, gayly running in and out of this sweet, southern home I fondly titled “Arkansassy” 60-hour weeks defined the distribution of his time spent gun in holster, laptop always open to a new report, ready always ready "You have the right to remain silent" (Transylvanian accent included) Time carries the Burden of Change; Change is unaware, forever encircling, engulfing shutter speed; Click! Click! Click! he traded in his Roadhouse shirt for a slick 7d Mark II Canon snapping shots of babies while they squirmed in their freshly ironed onesies, surrounded by toys and blankets and all things soft no longer did he carry the title of baker, waiter, or insurance salesman the American Dream began peeping through 20 years later he now bore the title of Deputy Sheriff, goofy hat included; taser ready for action “Photographer” on the side, he marveled in exposure and contrast, blending away the lines of imperfection, continuously carving out the road to my success shutter speed; zoom although Time carries the Burden of Change, a photograph will always hold the moment, crisply snapping each emotion Click! treasuring the youth of its Time Click! Burdening the soul with questions Who? When? Where? "I’ll still be thinking about you"