Today my dad would have been 81. It is hard to think of him as that old. He will always be the man in my profile picture, young and smiling and adoring his girls. We could not have had a better father. Our dad was a kind and loving man, generous to a fault, strong in his convictions and always, always a gentleman. Even when he grew feeble with his Parkinson's, he put us first. We knew he loved us and supported us and thought we could do anything.
When I moved away, my parents outfitted me with all that I could need: pots, pans, the living room suit out of an estate sale, bath towels...and it's silly, but I will never forget my dad pulling me aside one evening and handing me a bag with some nails, duct tape, pliers, a screw driver, and the little hammer that was always my favorite. There was also a toilet bowl brush, something I hadn't thought to purchase. "I thought you might need these," he said. I still have the hammer, but the toilet bowl brush, while long gone, has stayed like a smile in my memory as I imagine my sweet daddy thinking I might need that one day.
Kyle drives Dads/Mom's car now. He doesn't love it (it's a gold 2001 Malibu!), but he's left Mom's sunglasses and Dad's cd's in the glovebox. I'm glad. Reminds me of the song, "I Drive Your Truck." And sometimes when I see a little gold pick up truck like the one Dad had cruising down the road, I imagine my dad is still here, and I just haven't seen him for awhile. It's easier that way, because if I let myself think about the fact that both of the people who loved me best are gone, I get overwhelmed and sad and feel really, really alone.
So here's to my dad, who loved lemon meringue pie and ice cream and French onion soup. Who had a fantastic little garden and grew tomatoes and green beans and zucchini. Who went to church every Sunday, even on vacation, and worked the polls on election day and bought groceries for a poor family at Christmas. Who served his country, talked like a bloke, and often found himself "40,000 feet above the ground with no parachute." Who loved his wife and his girls, and who is desperately missed.
Happy Birthday, Dad!
Today my dad would have been 81. It is hard to think of him as that old. He will always be the man in my profile picture, young and smiling and adoring his girls. We could not have had a better father. Our dad was a kind and loving man, generous to a fault, strong in his convictions and always, always a gentleman. Even when he grew feeble with his Parkinson's, he put us first. We knew he loved us and supported us and thought we could do anything.
When I moved away, my parents outfitted me with all that I could need: pots, pans, the living room suit out of an estate sale, bath towels...and it's silly, but I will never forget my dad pulling me aside one evening and handing me a bag with some nails, duct tape, pliers, a screw driver, and the little hammer that was always my favorite. There was also a toilet bowl brush, something I hadn't thought to purchase. "I thought you might need these," he said. I still have the hammer, but the toilet bowl brush, while long gone, has stayed like a smile in my memory as I imagine my sweet daddy thinking I might need that one day.
Kyle drives Dads/Mom's car now. He doesn't love it (it's a gold 2001 Malibu!), but he's left Mom's sunglasses and Dad's cd's in the glovebox. I'm glad. Reminds me of the song, "I Drive Your Truck." And sometimes when I see a little gold pick up truck like the one Dad had cruising down the road, I imagine my dad is still here, and I just haven't seen him for awhile. It's easier that way, because if I let myself think about the fact that both of the people who loved me best are gone, I get overwhelmed and sad and feel really, really alone.
So here's to my dad, who loved lemon meringue pie and ice cream and French onion soup. Who had a fantastic little garden and grew tomatoes and green beans and zucchini. Who went to church every Sunday, even on vacation, and worked the polls on election day and bought groceries for a poor family at Christmas. Who served his country, talked like a bloke, and often found himself "40,000 feet above the ground with no parachute." Who loved his wife and his girls, and who is desperately missed.
Happy Birthday, Dad!
When I moved away, my parents outfitted me with all that I could need: pots, pans, the living room suit out of an estate sale, bath towels...and it's silly, but I will never forget my dad pulling me aside one evening and handing me a bag with some nails, duct tape, pliers, a screw driver, and the little hammer that was always my favorite. There was also a toilet bowl brush, something I hadn't thought to purchase. "I thought you might need these," he said. I still have the hammer, but the toilet bowl brush, while long gone, has stayed like a smile in my memory as I imagine my sweet daddy thinking I might need that one day.
Kyle drives Dads/Mom's car now. He doesn't love it (it's a gold 2001 Malibu!), but he's left Mom's sunglasses and Dad's cd's in the glovebox. I'm glad. Reminds me of the song, "I Drive Your Truck." And sometimes when I see a little gold pick up truck like the one Dad had cruising down the road, I imagine my dad is still here, and I just haven't seen him for awhile. It's easier that way, because if I let myself think about the fact that both of the people who loved me best are gone, I get overwhelmed and sad and feel really, really alone.
So here's to my dad, who loved lemon meringue pie and ice cream and French onion soup. Who had a fantastic little garden and grew tomatoes and green beans and zucchini. Who went to church every Sunday, even on vacation, and worked the polls on election day and bought groceries for a poor family at Christmas. Who served his country, talked like a bloke, and often found himself "40,000 feet above the ground with no parachute." Who loved his wife and his girls, and who is desperately missed.
Happy Birthday, Dad!
