Musing on…My Dad

I’ve known my dad for a bit over forty-five years…basically my whole life. He just turned seventy-three, but as his health is declining, it’s increasingly likely that he won’t see another birthday, and that this father’s day will be the last one we celebrate. While that is personally sad, it’s not these end times that come to mind when I think of my father, but of all those times in my life when he was Dad.

I can’t think of a single time in my life when I hated him. Sure, I disappointed him sometimes, and he did likewise to me on occasion. Even so, I never ever doubted that he loved me and would do anything for me that he could. Sure, I remember the obvious gestures, like buying me my first car (and teaching me how to keep it running), or paying for the bulk of my college education. For that second part, especially, I don’t think I can ever repay him; the lifetime of opportunities and experiences that sprang from that is something I value so much more than the few thousand dollars it cost (college was less expensive when I was younger).

My dad was always there when I needed him. When I was six, and had fallen down in the middle of the street, hurting my knees so badly that I couldn’t stand up, it wasn’t my cousins who helped me to safety (no, they ran, instead), but my dad, who heard me calling from two blocks away and came running, carrying me back home. Even when I was an adult, and my friends and I were stranded in a faraway part of the state, all it took was a phone call for him to drive the hour and a half to rescue us (plus the hour and a half back).

Over the years, a lot of people thought of my dad as being very serious. He could be—though I think “focused” would be a better word. What many didn’t see, and caught many others off-guard, was his sense of humor. My dad loved to laugh. Even more, I think he liked applying his dry sense of humor to those who thought of him as being humorless. I think the reactions he received tickled him more than the appreciation of the thrown bon mots. Having a smart-ass son like me couldn’t have been easy, but he’d laugh along with me even when the puns were even more groan-worthy than usual.

Like a lot of kids, my dad was also the one who took time out to teach me sports. We’d practice football for hours on end. We’d toss baseballs around, and have batting practice. He’d shoot hoops with me, and was my on-and-off again tennis buddy for about thirty years. Like with my education, these skills formed a foundation for a lot of fantastic things that have happened in my life. I know I’m not alone in this, so that’s why I’m always so confused by all of these athlete who, when a camera is one them, say, “Hi, Mom!” Not me. In my heart, I’m forever saying, “Hi, Dad!”

I think most of all, his unwavering acceptance of responsibility, integrity, fairness, and industry is something that I’ve taken directly from him. After I’d grown to adulthood, I realized what an outstanding father I had, and how lucky I was to have him. He did all those things for me that you’d expect a father to do. I never once heard him complain. Now that I have a little more personal experience in this emotional arena myself, I really do understand.

So, on this father’s day, I’m not going to give my dad a silly tie, or some shop tool he can’t use anymore. I’m not going to think about what it is I’m going to be losing soon, and instead embrace the wonderful life I’ve gotten to share with him. To that end, I think the only thing that has any true worth is to simply tell him, “Thank you. Thank you for being my dad.”