The True Father by Steven Anderson Law Page A

growing up in Talihina?”
    Â Â  “My dad worked in a factory over in Wilburton, and he raised quarter horses on the side. That's how I learned to ride.”
    Â Â  “Do you still work with your dad?”
    Â Â  “He died when I was still in high school. He was an alcoholic.”
    Â Â  “I'm sorry.”
    Â Â  “It's okay. You know, it's ironic. My mom was full-blooded Choctaw, and my dad was German/Scottish. Stereotypically, it's usually the Indian that's the drunkard. But my mom hated drinking. I think my father made her hate it.”
    Â Â  “That's understandable. And your mom is a hair stylist, right?”
    Â Â  “Yeah, she has a beauty parlor down in Talihina.”
    Â Â  “Did she ever remarry?”
    Â Â  “She almost did once, but the guy came home drunk one night. She kicked him out and swore she would never have another man in her life.”
    Â Â  “How sad.”
    Â Â  “Yeah, well that's my family.”
    Â Â  “Were you an only child?”
    Â Â  “Oh, no. I have three older brothers. None of them live around here. My dad drove them all away.”
    Â Â  “Sounds like you had a rough childhood.”
    Â Â  “Well, let's put it this way. I'd rather die than go through it again.”
    Â Â  Suddenly I began to worry about her. It seemed that all her life she had experienced great struggles, a family divided by her father's weak habit, then the habit finally claiming his life, and now, the loss of a man she loved. I was almost afraid to ask her anything more.
    Â Â  “If this is too much for you, we can stop,” I said.
    Â Â  “Oh, I've grown kind of rigid over the years. I can handle it.”
    Â Â  I wasn't sure I believed her, but then again, she seemed very strong and thus far was doing a great job of opening up to me. And who was to know if she'd ever do it again? 
    Â Â  “Besides Jettie,” I said, “was there ever anyone else?”
    Â Â  “Yeah, I was married for six months.”
    Â Â  I don't know why but this surprised me. Not so much that she had been married, but for such a short period of time.
    Â Â  She continued. “He was a doctor at the hospital where I worked as a nursing assistant. I was young and he was so smooth. He took me out to fancy restaurants. Every now and then we'd fly to Dallas in his plane, spend the whole weekend shopping and dining out. He knew how much I wanted a horse ranch, and he used that to lure me into his life. Making promises he would never keep.”
    Â Â  “Why did he do that?”
    Â Â  Her face grew stern and almost pale. “Because all he wanted was a piece of ass. A pretty young Indian trophy wife to hang on his side and make him look good.”
    Â Â  “What a jerk.”
    Â Â  “Yeah, he was a jerk.”
    Â Â  “Well at least it's behind you.”
    Â Â  I figured this was enough for now, and tried to change the mood by giving her a smile. “So, you like horses?”
    Â Â  This made her laugh a little. She took a drink of her beer when suddenly the music quit playing and a voice came over a loud speaker and a light shined over the mechanical bull. Then a man in a cowboy hat and a short sleeved western shirt with a belly that hung over his belt walked under the light and spoke into a microphone.
    Â Â  “Ladies and gentlemen, we have a challenge! Boyd Simmons has opted to challenge the bull!”
    Â Â  Several people in the crowd cheered and applauded. The man with the belly walked away and Boyd hopped up on the bull. He had one buckskin glove on his right hand, and he jiggled and squirmed on top the bull as if he were looking for a comfortable position. With the gloved hand he grabbed a single handle that stuck up in front of him. He raised the other hand above his head and nodded to the big-bellied man who stood