The Constitutionalist's Daughter

The first time I saw him – with his sunny blond hair, chiseled jaw, and crystal blue eyes – I knew that he would devastate me… My father was an exceptionally hard-working man who never seemed content to sit still for very long.  Everywhere we went he had projects underway to keep his hands busy at all times.  I've never been much of a Reba McEntire fan but the first time I ever heard the song 'Daddy's Hands' I instantly understood and identified with the lyrics in a profound way.  My own father's hands had always held a position of special significance to me.  It baffled me how he could be so tender with them when brushing my hair on Saturday mornings while my mom was working at the hospital or while tending to my plethora of scrapes and bumps from being a reckless adventure seeker, yet exhibit so much strength with them while swinging a hammer or digging a hole.  I marveled at how steady they could be when he was drawing and painting, at how calloused and...

The Virgin Town Water Tank - Photo Courtesy the Virgin Town Website She'd only been my new best friend for a little over an hour when I realized that establishing my new identity was going to be much more difficult than I had originally surmised… After having driven around for several hours trying to find our new home, my parents had finally turned the family truck toward St. George, the largest city in Washington County, Utah – which really isn't saying much.  The irony is, as we were driving around in circles through the various plots of horse country and farmland, my sister and I were utterly oblivious to the fact that we were lost.  We were in the camper in the back of the truck, after all, and not privy to whatever conversations or navigational concerns our parents were expressing amongst themselves down in the cab.  We were watching endless miles of open nothingness pass by the windows and assuming that we were still simply on our way to wherever it was w...