What My Dad-Dad Taught Me...

Growing up on a horse farm was not always a cherished way of life like it is today. In fact- I can remember coming home from friends’ homes and asking my parents, “Why can’t we live in a neighborhood like *Ashley or *Josh?”  I wanted the cul-de-sac, I wanted the back-to-back yard whiffle ball games that lasted into the evening, I wanted the bike rides with friends. But most of all, I wanted the normalcy. The normalcy that I saw behind the lifestyle of those cookie cutter houses that bred socialites starting at the age of six...

 

But to my dismay (at the time), My brother and I grew up on a hill that overlooked fields of alfalfa and grazing horses. Neighbors were never seen conversing in the driveway nor were there ever group barbecues that people stopped by for a quick hello.

 But as time went on and I look back at this life style I grew up in, I can’t help but be ever so grateful for never reaching “normalcy” and aging with a developed desire to stand out. And although I never met the man, except for a month before his passing as he held me as a bundle of wrinkled skin and baby coo’s, I have so much thank my great granddad for all he has contributed to my life.

My Dad-Dad, Charles Keller II, was an extraordinary man. Even twenty-two years later, his presence in each and every one of the Kellers' lives is strong and humbling. You see, my Dad-Dad was a dreamer: A motivated individual that had a to-do list only fathomable by the very elite visionaries. A young boy, he dreamed of serving his country, playing baseball, living on a farm, moving to exciting cities and meeting incredible people.

Charlie went to the University of Maryland after growing up in a small rural town about an hour outside of Baltimore. Studying agricultural economics, he also found the love of his life- soon to be his wife- and played baseball for the university. In time, he found himself playing minor-league baseball for the Newark Bears until he made his way up to New York for his rookie season in 1939 for the Yankees. 

Interchanging his time between the Yankees and the Detroit Tigers from1939-1952, my Dad-Dad played out his passion and worked towards his dream. He left the diamond in 1944 and was gone much of 1945 as he took this time to serve his country in the Merchant Marines during World War II.

Before and after his military leave, Dad-Dad achieved a position in multiple World Series and accumulated an impressive batting average. Charlie (or King Kong Keller, as his teammates called him based on his massive power swing… or gorilla-like eye-brows) stayed busy bettering himself and his aspirations. 

Playing with headliners like Joe DiMaggio and Tommy Henrich, Dad-Dad met fascinating people. He learned of stories that lead to greater perspective. His travels and correspondences helped him gain an abundance of knowledge and understanding, some of which has been passed along to me through the generations that have raised me.

After back issues, my great-grandfather retired from baseball and made his way back home to Maryland. But his to-do list wasn’t yet complete. Now with a family and support from friends, Dad-Dad began what was soon to become his pride and joy. A standard bred horse farm on the outskirts of Frederick that he right-fully named, “Yankeeland.” It is here that he built a barn upon a dream that grew into a business. But more importantly, it spawned from a simple idea and a wild passion that evolved into a reality. 

 This is where he watched his family grow and learn the true value of hard work. My grandfather worked his bare hands here, my father still works this land, and I am blessed to still have the opportunity to plant my memories in the soil my great-granddad had sewn for this family.

I wished to share this with you for the soul purpose to reflect. It is possible to achieve all you set your mind to. My Dad-Dad taught me a lot: The power of persistence and the importance of dreaming, no matter how big these dreams may grow to be. He taught me that all success stems from sincere love and devotion for the people that enter our life to support even our craziest ambitions. He taught me that not one thing can be expected or given to us unless we are willing to risk failure and stretch our abilities to reach success. 

I can’t remember what age I was when I realized that I liked growing up where I did; that time period in which I knew that I never really wanted normalcy. Because had I grown up in normalcy, I would never have truly understood exactly what my Dad-Dad built our home upon- a passion for family, a passion for achieving… a passion for dreaming.

The Mixtape-A Short Story

She thought about him a lot. She still does, really. She asks herself constantly...Why had she once "held out" when she should have been "holding on?" She whispers these thoughts in prayers at night, her eyes closed tighter than the pores in the sidewalk. Tears saturating the concrete and inching down her cheek like miniscule pools of blood from a paper cut. Mixed with mascara, it stains her skin only to leave a hint of regret. "Well," she thought as she sleepily stares at the shale remnants in the mirror upon waking, "I'm glad no one will see these but me." She wipes them away with her sleeve and tip toes into the shower.

A picture, a comment, a string of familiar melodies. She swallows hard at each and every one. Suddenly, a memory dances on the rain-soaked windowsill. A mix tape from their first dance. At the time, it seemed dismissive- a silly high school crush that entertained the thought of being cared for by the opposite sex. "Oh," she thought, "this'll pass and he'll see I'm no good for him."

A wooden trinket box, carved by hand. Delicate and precise down to the brass hinges that were silent when she opened the top. "Happy Birthday" he said, and she smiled. "Do you like it?" She shut the lid and placed it beside her on the couch, not noticing the hand carved ridges, detailed intricacies he'd included for her to notice. It truly was remarkable, but at the time, her eyes glazed over with boredom- only making it seem mundane. "Thank you, I love it," she said then. Only now, as she cradles it in her lap five years later tracing the rim where his fingers once carved,  she finally means those words once on her lips.

She steps on a folding ladder, hovering over the hardwood in her closet. It's moving day and she tosses the last remaining hangers in the dirty clothes bin to be carried to the car. She was scared and nervous- she called him the night before. His words were the ones she needed.
"Hey stranger!"
"Hey there. How are you?" He sounded strong, independent.
"I'm good. Moving in the morning." A slight pause. He didn't notice.
"Oh that's right! You excited?"
"Absolutely! I'm just ready to move on with my life. Do something diff..." She was cut off, before her lie solidified, by the tiny click of an incoming call.
"Sorry, I have to go! I'll call you back." *click*
"bye" she said to the wall. He never called.

She throws the remaining bags and crates of mismatched socks and yearbooks into the back of her car. Her parents step out onto the lawn with a pink container made of transparent plastic. "Don't you want this?" they ask her with outstretched arms. She takes it as her heart clenches tighter than fists. A pile of college denial letters, two certificates for athletic excellence, and a wooden umbrella taken from atop her great grandmother's dresser. She nods and tucks it under her right arm. She looks down at its side. And there it lay, once made of wet malleable clay. Now a snowman painted by the innocent hands of a child lost in the clutches of infatuation. White body, a purple scarf, tiny black eyes no bigger than the tip of a ball point pen. A smile etched in, just as thin, rested below an orange triangle nose.

She unclasps the lid and pinches the snowman. Turning it over in her fingers, she reveals a heart scraped in the back- its identity. She places it in her right pocket. It will gather heat from her thighs through her jeans and remind her of how love never grows cold if you feed it, even if you initially neglect it. Her mom kisses her goodbye, her dad hugs her tight. A familiar quote emerges from her subconscious... "I don't know if we each have a destiny, or if we're all just floatin' around accidental-like on a breeze. But I, I think maybe it's both." She climbs in the drivers seat and turns through her collection of discs accuulated through her adolescence. Only to retrieve the mix tape as she shifts the car in drive.

Growing Up

Right before I left Vacation with my amazing parents, my dad kissed my forehead and whispered
"You are so beautiful, don't grow-up too fast."

But being that my 21st is a mere weeks away, I can't help but feel like I want to be a grown-up.

Finding a job, exploring the world and all the people in it, and endless opportunities...
But I also can't help but think there can be drawn a thin line between grown-up and growing-up.

Before break, (blame it on the homework, crazy work schedules, and change), I felt like growing up was becoming almost impossible and the farthest thing from my own reality.

But since the flight home, I have started to realize that although I want to be a grown-up, I can still be myself (Change with few to no change at all). I believe that growing up isn't about change, but about finding what you already have within you and adjusting it to how you WANT to live.

Take pride in your work, you may never know who is looking through your words and accomplishments. Look your best, always. That may mean heels, dresses, and makeup to some, and that's ok!
But also, feel your best and know you look your best when you are confident in the fact that you are and always will be beautiful.

Just a side note on Growing Up- I may not be a Grown Up yet, and I may never be...
But every step I take, I am sure to keep shining and exploring just what I have to offer the world around me

Happy Tuesday, Love Doves