Page 82 of Bull Riders Don't Swoon

I’m actually proud of him for taking his recovery so seriously.

“Yep. I’m waiting for him.”

Dad opens the door of the minivan and steps out. My grin damn near splits my face when dad stands in front of me with a red-checked bandana around his neck and a straw cowboy hat. I don’t know where he got the overalls that sag on his skinny frame, but it’s clear he’s tried his best to fit in with his version of rodeo.

He holds his arms to the side. “Well. What do you think? Am I country?”

“You’re something.” I step up to hug him and we both linger in the hug. After releasing him, I gesture towards the entrance to the rodeo grounds as the shuttle van pulls away. “How are you feeling today?”

Dad places the straw hat on his head as we walk up the pathway. Screams of people riding the midway drift towards us and my dad’s mouth drops open as he turns to me. “There’s a fair here, too? Not just a rodeo?”

“Yeah. I thought you knew that. Is there—”

“Can we get cotton candy? I took you to a street fair thing once when you were maybe four, I think? Just a wee thing and youbegged for cotton candy. You were fascinated watching the lady spin it on a paper cone right in front of you.”

Dad’s eyes glass over as he gets this faraway look, and it’s the first time I’ve ever heard him talk about something from my childhood.

“You took one bite and then you sort of got it everywhere and were one big sticky mess. But I remember…” His throat clicks as I steer him towards the fairground entrance away from the rodeo. “I remember you offered me a slobbery blob of it, and it was really good.”

I smile and laugh, choosing to paint the happy picture in my head and not dwell on the lost memories. “Yeah, we can get cotton candy, Dad. I promise I won’t even lick it before you get some.”

He laughs, a sound I’ve not heard in a long, long time. I think he startles himself since he cuts off the sound just as abruptly as it came. “That would be wonderful,” Dad says and I lead us to the cotton candy booth.

“Do you want it on a stick or in the bag?”

“Are you eating some, too?” We step closer to the order counter.

“Of course. I love the stuff. I haven’t had any for years.”

“Then make it a stick.”

After passing the money to the woman, my dad stands to the side watching the woman wind the spun sugar on a paper cone through the plexiglass. He’s lost in more memories and I only hope this isn’t another moment my mother steals from us in her absence.

After she passes me the cotton candy, Dad and I walk around the midway, eating the fluffy sugar on a stick and just enjoying this new thing we have. The counselors warned me he may have some memory loss because of his prolonged addiction, but it seems likethe cotton candy memory is one that stuck, and I have no reason to doubt it.

After strolling through the flower and produce exhibits—dad had never seen pumpkins that big!—we head to the seating area at the rodeo that Jackson’s parents sponsor.

“So, Dad, you’re going to meet some people tonight. Don’t worry about remembering who they all are, okay?” I turn to him for his acknowledgement before continuing. “Jackson Sutherland is a steer wrestler. Every year, his parents sponsor the seating you’ll be in. He’s a good friend and his mom and dad are nice.”

He nods along, but I notice the slip in his smile, and I reach for his hand.

“Dad, please don’t compare yourself to them or go on a guilt trip. These are people I’ve met as an adult, and they mean a lot to me. So do you.”

“I can’t just turn it off, Griff. It’s not like that. I’ve let you down and I’m a drunk. Hardly anything to parade around to your friends.”

Okay. They also warned me about this, and while it goes against everything I really want to say, I stick with the truth.

“That was true before, yes. I was embarrassed, and you let me down. But that’s the past, Dad. We have the chance to start over. That stuff doesn’t matter now. You’re my dad, who is brave enough to work at being better, and I’m proud of that.That’sthe dad I’m parading around.”

“It’s just…I’m not good at making friends. I’ve had none for years, you know?” His eyes water, and I pull him in for a hug and just say it.

“Dad, it means a lot to have you here to watch me. If you don’t want to talk to them, then don’t. Just sit and watch me. I want my dad to see what I do.” I release him and step back. “Please, Dad.”

He swipes at his eyes. “I’ll do anything I can for you, Griffy. It’s just a little harder. Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. Would you feel better if I told you someone is nervous you’re here?”

Dad cocks his head. “Who?”

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