I was born a week before my dad’s birthday. I like to call myself his birthday present. I’m trying to remember a year where we haven’t been close in proximity during this time. It’s cool, though. He and my mom are coming to visit in a week.
Archive for the ‘dads’ Category
In honor of my dad’s birthday, here are a few things that remind me of him.
I don’t remember how many times my sisters and I would beg him to give us “one more underdog!” I remember him hanging the swing from the tree in our backyard. When one of the strings broke, he replaced it with red rope.
Our duplex had an awesome front porch swing. And as toddlers we would swing so far we put holes in the stucco. If my dad really got mad about it, I don’t remember. The holes were still there the last time I was at the house.
My dad taught me how to ride a bike. He ran behind me in the alley holding the back of my bike seat. If I sit still long enough, I can hear his footsteps running behind me.
Once my dad’s bike got stolen. It was a sweet old red Schwinn ten-speed. I think it may have broken his heart a little bit. It’s for this reason that I always lock my bike. It was a lesson he learned for me. Thanks pops!
“What will you give me if I make this shot?” Dad would ask as we stood in the back alley playing basketball. As usual, my sarcastic 12-year-old self would say something like, “My undying respect.” Damn I was (am?) a firecracker!
Tennis. Basketball. Baseball. Waterskiing. Swimming. Softball. Broomball. Diving. Hell, he even got into hockey. If he could do it (or if you could), the man was probably interested.
I’m not quite sure how the story goes, but once upon a time my father was courting my mother and offered to make her a nice meal. He made her spaghetti.
Then they had kids and he fed them spaghetti. It doesn’t matter how many years it has been since my dad actually cooked me this meal, when I make spaghetti I think of him.
With my dad, a drive was always the answer. It’s a beautiful day! Let’s enjoy it on a drive. It’s been a tough week, let’s forget it with a drive. You’re in trouble. Let’s discuss it on a drive.
Imagine my dismay in moving to the city where “going on a drive” meant nothing more than increased blood pressure. Yet, when it was the most important, my dad made it work. When I told him about my divorce, he drove all the way to the cities to see me. And in the car he said one of the best things a daughter can hear from her father. He said: No matter what you do, I will always love you. So even if we couldn’t quite get the drive right, it was the moment that mattered.
Dad, happy birthday. I hope you have an amazing day. And here’s to a year better than any one you have ever had before!