Hunting with my dad

So far in sorting the old photos I have, I haven’t found any of just my dad and I together. I also haven’t found any of our first years in the house in Topanga Canyon. I believe this is a reflection of how tight our family budget was for a few years there. For a few years we lived off my mom’s pay as a file clerk. I spent most days with my dad. 

I do have a number of photos taken at my grandparents house around this time. The one above was at the park across the street from them. I remember posing in that tree that split near the ground. My foot wedged in the split hurt, and I felt smooshed in, but did my best to smile on command. 

The image of Topanga Canyon today is million dollar homes. In the late 1950’s it was very different. It was wild and remote, filled with people who liked it that way. My first memory, we only drove a little ways up the Canyon from the beach.There were a few gentle curves, then a sharper one, where a creek went under a bridge. Just before that, there was room to pull off the road and park. That was as far as I went, that first time. 

I was, maybe, probably, four. There was a lot I didn’t understand. I was sitting in the car, waiting for Daddy. “Stay in the car. If anyone stops, don’t talk to them. Honk the horn if you need help.” He walked up a trail, steep hills on both sides. He carried a gun. 

I sit as still as I can. Every time a car passes, I’m afraid it will stop. I don’t know how long I wait, it's too long. When daddy walks back he opens the trunk and puts his gun away. And we go home. 

My brother told me, not fried chicken but fried bunny rabbit. They were laughing, but I couldn’t eat another bite, such a baby. 

There are more trips, up the twisting roads. We stop at a small building where the man gives me a sucker. We follow him to one house, another house. I sit in the car as they look and talk. Different times. Different houses. “Don't tell mommy. It’s a secret.”

One evening after mommy got home from work, we all drive to one of the houses. “Well, Babe, what do you think? I signed the papers. We’re going to move here and fix it up.” I didn’t understand. This house is so strange, so small. The hill is so steep that legs made of wood hold up one side. 

There is a night of arguing and tears. They are trying to be quiet, but hear them. I can’t sleep, full of feelings. I worry that it is my fault. We are moving and I don’t know what that means. Daddy decided. Now mommy is angry and sad, even when she takes a big breath and smiles at me. 

I don’t like secrets. I don’t like being lied to. I don’t trust daddy. I question every piece of meat put on my plate.

 

A map from the realtor.

The red circle at the lower left was our house.