Remembering Crissy-tail

 This may not be exactly a single, clear memory, but more a recollection of a time when I was still Daddy's Little Princess.

 My dad, until very recently, lived his life as if he were still a teenager in the 70's, and the music he listened to reflected that perfectly. When I was a little girl, I spent as much time with my dad as I could, which was mainly just weekends, since he was a truck driver and was gone most of the week delivering eggs. On the weekend, my dad was not just a father, he was also a party animal. He'd spend hours over at his friends' homes, getting stupid-drunk and working on cars or setting off fireworks or driving out on Silver Lake in the winter. I remember him letting me drive the old Chevy out on the ice once when I was about nine years old.

 My dad was a fun guy when he was drinking, and he spoiled me to death. He stood up and fought for his family and friends when they were in trouble, but only if it was needed, since he still had enough wits about him to know what was going to send him to jail or not. In the last two years that he continued to drink, his grip on the fun, partying, and yet still mentally stable side of drinking started to slip, and after a few DUI's, a night in jail, and nearly losing his family twice, he finally gave up the habit, and hasn't had a drink in about five years.

 Even though he may not be as wildly fun, and his temper glows like hot coals these days, and sometimes I get confused about whether or not I still love my father (even though I know deep down I always will), any time I hear the songs "Indian Reservation," or "Hitchin' a Ride," or "Me and You and a Dog named Boo," I remember a time when I was entirely careless, my name was Crissy-tail, and there wasn't a thing I enjoyed more than riding shotgun, listening to a mixtape of the 70's Greates Hits on the way to the hardware store with my Prince Charming.