And now Fathers Day already
Got a little sidetracked, but will be writing again soon.
Reposting from 2007 with different pictures. Not a thing has changed, except that I know he can't read it this time. Still, I remember his comment like it was yesterday: Thanks. I think you're nice, too.
Man, I miss him. Miss him, miss him, miss him. It feels good to read about him in the present tense.
******
I owe so much to my father.
He climbed a ladder to paint the house or clean the gutters even though he was never partial to heights, and worked hard to ensure his family was comfortable and well educated.
He sat through and applauded innumerable puppet shows and dance recitals, entertained us at dinner by making the coffee carafe talk, and peeked around the corner of the living room to catch me tap dancing on the hearth or playing ballerina. He banged pots and pans with us on the porch at midnight New Year’s Eve, and administered belly-plubbers when we were supposed to be heading up to sleep. He allowed me to test my hair-cutting skills at the tender age of eleven.
I know, he was brave.
My God - I’ve been cutting his hair for almost 25 years. Nowadays, I often linger so we can talk longer, so I can learn what he’s doing with his time, how his health is, and what he’s been thinking about. I trust his advice, whether it’s about politics, finances, home improvement, or myriad other subjects.
It makes me happy that he planned for his own future and was able to travel after retirement, and that he allowed time for fishing and hobbies like making leaded glasswork and learning the guitar.
I love that if he’s not certain of the inflection or pronunciation of a word, he says it two ways to cover his bases (a trait I have picked up, thank you very much).
I love that when he stayed overnight on his way to visit my sister last year, he went to check on the state of our back lawn at 11:00 p.m. wearing his miner’s helmet. I love that I only found him by the glow of the helmet and the whistling I heard as he walked back down the driveway.
I love how he blushes when he says something risqué, and that he winks at us when he’s teasing my mother.
There’s simply not enough room and not enough time to list all the reasons I love my dad, but this will have to do for now. Expect more next year.
I love you, Dad. Happy Father’s Day.
P.S. Thank you for sticking with me through the teenage years and somehow walking the line between allowing me space and keeping me in line. Though I’m sure I never said it at the time, it was exactly what I needed.
Reposting from 2007 with different pictures. Not a thing has changed, except that I know he can't read it this time. Still, I remember his comment like it was yesterday: Thanks. I think you're nice, too.
Man, I miss him. Miss him, miss him, miss him. It feels good to read about him in the present tense.
******
I owe so much to my father.
He climbed a ladder to paint the house or clean the gutters even though he was never partial to heights, and worked hard to ensure his family was comfortable and well educated.
He sat through and applauded innumerable puppet shows and dance recitals, entertained us at dinner by making the coffee carafe talk, and peeked around the corner of the living room to catch me tap dancing on the hearth or playing ballerina. He banged pots and pans with us on the porch at midnight New Year’s Eve, and administered belly-plubbers when we were supposed to be heading up to sleep. He allowed me to test my hair-cutting skills at the tender age of eleven.
I know, he was brave.
My God - I’ve been cutting his hair for almost 25 years. Nowadays, I often linger so we can talk longer, so I can learn what he’s doing with his time, how his health is, and what he’s been thinking about. I trust his advice, whether it’s about politics, finances, home improvement, or myriad other subjects.
It makes me happy that he planned for his own future and was able to travel after retirement, and that he allowed time for fishing and hobbies like making leaded glasswork and learning the guitar.
I love that if he’s not certain of the inflection or pronunciation of a word, he says it two ways to cover his bases (a trait I have picked up, thank you very much).
I love that when he stayed overnight on his way to visit my sister last year, he went to check on the state of our back lawn at 11:00 p.m. wearing his miner’s helmet. I love that I only found him by the glow of the helmet and the whistling I heard as he walked back down the driveway.
I love how he blushes when he says something risqué, and that he winks at us when he’s teasing my mother.
There’s simply not enough room and not enough time to list all the reasons I love my dad, but this will have to do for now. Expect more next year.
I love you, Dad. Happy Father’s Day.
P.S. Thank you for sticking with me through the teenage years and somehow walking the line between allowing me space and keeping me in line. Though I’m sure I never said it at the time, it was exactly what I needed.
posted by Melissa at 7:13 PM
4 comments
