I am blessed to still have my father in my life. Though he is 84, his mind it still sharp as a tack even though his body is not. For years my dad, James, has had difficulty walking due to neuropathy in both his feet. Since I travel most of the time for work, I rarely see my dad. He and my mom have a complicated relationship, at best, made all the more complicated since the death of my brother, Scott, over 3 years ago.
My parents have been married for 58 years and have had some great times; more than most people, really. Dad enjoyed a great career with the FAA, then Martin Marietta. He was an electrical engineer by trade, but a gifted teacher and storyteller by passion. My dad is from North Carolina and when he really gets into a story, you can hear his Southern drawl come out in spades. NO ONE can tell a story like my father; I mean no one.
My dad has been a powerful influence in my life for as long as I can remember. I get some of my best qualities from him: my ability to teach, my love of all things animal; my compassion; my sensitivity. Even though I completely relate to my mom's 100 percent Italian side, I gravitate toward my dad's Heinz 57 temperament and always have. I guess it's normal for a girl to love her dad more. I really should spend more time honing in on the qualities I get from him; they are truly salt-of-the-Earth type stuff.
On Thanksgiving night my brother and his family and me and my family visited mom and dad at their home in Aurora, CO. For years their house was the gathering place for this holiday as well as Christmas. Though small, their house was decked out with decorations and there was always a ton of food including the pounds of homemade chocolates and cookies that mom would dole out to anyone and everyone every year. Also from the South, my mom has rarely been outdone in the hospitality game; her pores reek of it!
During our visit dad commanded all attention with his stories and his endearing personality. As he spoke, I found myself asking questions about why he chose that path over this path, willing him to continue to tell me things I didn't know. And I realize there is so much I don't know or at least can't remember. When you're young, you just look at your parents as people who do not get you and make silly rules and want to make your life miserable. When you get older, you see them as people: people with dreams, hurts, aspirations and faults. People who had lives long before you entered the picture and made it all about you.
I made the declaration that it had been a long time since all of us had been at their house together. And it had. Way TOO long. Everyone nodded in agreement. I had been over there a time or two with my brother, Eric, or I had been with my kids or with Ric, my fiancé. But I literally could not remember a time when we had been over there all at the same time. It was so nice, but I knew it was a fleeting gift. In the blink of the eye it, too, would be gone. I am sure it was at least 5 years ago and it was when Scott was still alive. The things we take for granted and think will always be there. The sheer reality that time marches on, faster and faster, the older we get. It honors no one and nothing; it simply keeps going, whether we cooperate or not. Let go or be dragged, as one of my favorite sayings states.
My dad has had an amazing life. He is one of the smartest, funniest, kindest men I have ever known. I always say there are three perfect men in my life: my dad and my two sons. While this couldn't be farther from the truth, it comes as close to truth as anything else I've ever felt in my life. Thanks, dad, for being the best father I could ever hope for. I hope, in some small way, I have made you proud to call me your daughter.
Dad
