(Circa 1985, tour of ship formerly USS France, thanks to my Dad)
Many a man can be a father, but not all men can be a Dad. My father was a Dad.
Of course you appreciate about 25 percent of this while they are alive and the remaining after they pass on.
I reflect often on the 4:00 AM wake-ups to take me to swim practice. I could get impatient and cranky and hated to be late. Not much has changed. I didn’t understand why he needed his coffee. I sure do now.
My friends loved my Dad for his exciting and almost hard to believe stories, games, funny gadgets and stuff around the house that were so entertaining. They loved his music, humor, athleticism, his sense of adventure and the fact he probably allowed more sweets and treats in the home than my mom. I have friends that still remember the specific foods always at our home – the blessing of sweet details.
One of the biggest differences between a father and a dad, is time. And time where he’s ‘in the moment’ and present, not on the phone. A dad invests and relishes the time with his children. The father moves on to the next task – usually work-related. A dad is unhurried with his playing and laughing.
When a parent or loved one dies, we often hear the ‘trite phrases’. Such words as ‘it gets better’ or ‘I wish I could say it gets better’ or the pseudo empathetic ‘I can’t imagine’. Nothing that profound or new is ever said.
This morning I woke with a heaviness in my heart. A glimmer of peace then broke through with this realization: I don’t want to pain to go away completely. Not this pain. The death of a parent isn’t some ‘bad break-up’. For this pain is tied to sweet memories. If I forget the pain, I may forget all the good times. Therefore, pain like life, has this almost ironic quality to it. We learn to co-exist with the pain as it draws upon the wonderful memories.
Happy Father’s Day, Dad. I miss your conversations about so much. Ken Follett books, WWII history, your lectures about finances and other matters of life. So much of what you told me I can hear so clearly today. And you were right.
Thank you for being a Dad, my Dad.
Your Daughter, Christie.
June 2020
Fashion Stories & Dirty Laundry 