Last week I found my old birth certificate and I was interested to see the part where my father's profession and place of employment were listed. "Kind of business or industry: Granite High School" and "Usual Occupation: School Teacher and Foot Ball Coach." He was 25.
Coincidentally it was also my 56th birthday last week. Yessir I'm 56 born in '56! I drove out to the place in Holladay where our house no longer stands (it was replaced years ago by a library) and looked at Mt. Olympus. It's the same view I remember as a little girl, lying on my back on a field of grass, staring east.
So my dad went on to have this singular career, and I won't lie. A lot of the time it was a full-on, wind-in-your-hair, hang-on-for-the-best-bitchin'-roller-coaster-ride-in-your-whole-damn-life blast. But I cherish the time before most of all. The time before when he was young and growing rows of tomatoes in the backyard and selling shoes at Sears on the weekends in addition to being a "School Teacher" and a "Foot Ball Coach," wondering where it would all go.