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October 3, 2024
My Three Redheaded Men
By Mikie Baker
The Bandera Prophet
Okay, I've finally crawled out of my deep hole. Hopefully this column will leave the hole behind.
I've loved three red-headed men in my life. It all began with Joe the Pro, my father. My favorite picture of us was when I was around 6 years old. He was holding my hand, and I was looking way up at him. Joe the Pro was 6'4" and way, way up there on top of his head was red hair. That's when I fell in love with red heads.
I was an only child, and I although I think he would have loved to have a boy, he had this little curly headed girl, so he taught me all the things a dad should - fly a kite, throw a Frisbee, play ping pong and tennis (he was a state champion), and how to golf. Oh, and shoot pool like Minnesota Fats. I can even do all the pool tricks.
Daddy was wonderful and loved his little girl with all his heart, so that's why I love redheads so much. He passed away at 72, way too young for a man even back then.
When I was a young, available, single thing, my attention turned to finding a wonderful man who would sweep me up and marry me. I found him one night at TGI Friday's - yes, I'm that old - and flirted with him by saying, "You are so cute. You have red hair just like my daddy." And then I slipped my card in his pocket. Luckily, I never noticed the woman on his arm.
Well, he dumped her and pursued me. Life was wonderful and I married that cute redheaded man. Life was bliss until the day I kissed him goodbye in the morning, telling him I loved him. He dropped dead that day at the age of 46. My world had come to an end. The two redheads I loved had both died.
In the meantime, my stepdaughter had a beautiful redheaded little boy. He was my world, in fact so much, that I raised him as she went on with a different life. I called him the Teenage Eating Machine as he could eat two pizzas at a time without blinking. He was always a troublemaker and made me worry all the time. And yet, you always love your redheaded men.
So, at 30, he died. Undetected cancer ravaged his body, and no matter how hard we all tried, he could not be saved. 30 years old. 30.
I've lost the three redheads I have loved in my life. I've had no funny in me for more than a month. It's more than time that I crawl out of my hole and get back to my mission and start spreading laughter throughout the world again.
Thank you for the opportunity to grieve and find my funny bone again. Luckily, my future husband has gray hair and, if you squint just right, he looks like Sam Elliot.
I will press forward.
I've loved three red-headed men in my life. It all began with Joe the Pro, my father. My favorite picture of us was when I was around 6 years old. He was holding my hand, and I was looking way up at him. Joe the Pro was 6'4" and way, way up there on top of his head was red hair. That's when I fell in love with red heads.
I was an only child, and I although I think he would have loved to have a boy, he had this little curly headed girl, so he taught me all the things a dad should - fly a kite, throw a Frisbee, play ping pong and tennis (he was a state champion), and how to golf. Oh, and shoot pool like Minnesota Fats. I can even do all the pool tricks.
Daddy was wonderful and loved his little girl with all his heart, so that's why I love redheads so much. He passed away at 72, way too young for a man even back then.
When I was a young, available, single thing, my attention turned to finding a wonderful man who would sweep me up and marry me. I found him one night at TGI Friday's - yes, I'm that old - and flirted with him by saying, "You are so cute. You have red hair just like my daddy." And then I slipped my card in his pocket. Luckily, I never noticed the woman on his arm.
Well, he dumped her and pursued me. Life was wonderful and I married that cute redheaded man. Life was bliss until the day I kissed him goodbye in the morning, telling him I loved him. He dropped dead that day at the age of 46. My world had come to an end. The two redheads I loved had both died.
In the meantime, my stepdaughter had a beautiful redheaded little boy. He was my world, in fact so much, that I raised him as she went on with a different life. I called him the Teenage Eating Machine as he could eat two pizzas at a time without blinking. He was always a troublemaker and made me worry all the time. And yet, you always love your redheaded men.
So, at 30, he died. Undetected cancer ravaged his body, and no matter how hard we all tried, he could not be saved. 30 years old. 30.
I've lost the three redheads I have loved in my life. I've had no funny in me for more than a month. It's more than time that I crawl out of my hole and get back to my mission and start spreading laughter throughout the world again.
Thank you for the opportunity to grieve and find my funny bone again. Luckily, my future husband has gray hair and, if you squint just right, he looks like Sam Elliot.
I will press forward.