Here it is once again as another year passes and it’s Father’s Day. Every time this special holiday has rolled around for the past forty-six years, I find myself in a bit of a funk still missing my dad terribly. I am not going to write a story about my father today; nor am I writing a story about myself. This will not even be a story; there is no beginning and no end, unless you say that I was born and later on he died. The middle is only a collection of incidents that mean something special only to me.
I wanted his company after he died. I wanted to hear his voice in my head. I write because I didn’t want the conversation to end when we were finally getting to know one another on a different level. The level when I became mature and listened to the wisdom he offered, when I became a mother, and he became a grandfather to his first daughter’s child. I needed to continue to think and write about him, so I could have the last word. I wanted him to be alive. I wanted to introduce him to people who mattered to me. I wanted him to be there to hold my children and to see me graduate from college. I wanted him to see that in the face of adversity I did succeed to become a decent human being.
My dad was a gentle soul, mild and introspective, artistic in disposition even though he never finished the eighth grade. He was born in 1907 and was the fourth child out of five children. He was admired for his kindness and generosity, and being a God-fearing man who loved his family. By trade he was a carpenter who I watched as he worked late in the evenings building cabinets in our garage. No wonder that even to this day, the scent of freshly sawn lumber is my window to my childhood and wonder memories of observing how he worked. When I look back at my childhood, I see my dad as the quietest of mythic heroes, the kind that followed his own dreams and encouraged me, not by preaching, but by his inner sense of what was righteous.
My dad was the first man I ever saw with tears in his eyes. When I was eight years old, I saw him weep as he mourned the loss of his younger brother. His eyes welled with tears when I came back home after running away for an extended period of time, on my wedding day as he walked me down the aisle, and the day at the hospital when he first saw my newborn daughter. I saw and felt his anger and disappointment when I rebelled as a teenager, by staying out past my curfew, and got caught shoplifting. I saw his frustration when we sat in front of the judge, and told him sternly, “If I didn’t straighten up, the next time put her in a foster home.” My dad was a forgiving man, and in his heart, he knew it was tough love that I needed to scare me, and more than likely he prayed for me to learn from my mistakes. He forgave me and loved me despite my own flaws.
Those well-meaning but flawed human beings who love their children and yet, like my own father, have a hard time putting their feelings into words. They have a hard time inserting themselves into the private bond of mothers and daughters, and they have a hard time knowing how to deal with their daughter’s fledging sexuality. To most daughters, fathers are perhaps the most personal topic of all, you can’t escape them and yet feel you can’t quite pin them down.
This anthology is not complete, as no anthology about this powerful and universal relationship between a father and his child could be. This is not so much about who my father was, or what my father did, as about what he could make me feel.
For those of you who have fathers still here on this planet, give them a hug and tell them “Thanks.” They did their best, even when it may not have always produced the best outcome. They loved you in their own ways, even though sometimes that way was difficult to understand. They are proud of you, even if they never say or have said it. Happy Father’s Day, Dad!
I love you and miss you daddy, and no matter how old I am, I will always be your Doodle Bug.
Oh how beautiful is this… gives me tears! You’ve shared the deepest of feelings and the greatest of details describing your dad… what a sweet man he was. Thanks for sharing this… a wonderful tribute to dads who raised us right! Hugs! 🥰❤️🫶
Such a lovely tribute! Our dads are our first, and often, best Heroes.