I don't recall the first time we actually met, but I know it was a significant day. It was a day that changed my life...and his. I think my first memory of him had to be our dance. Ahhhhh....it isn't what you're thinking. It was much different than that. No, he took me by the hand and we sailed effortlessly across the floor. He looked down at me and laughed and I looked up at him with all the love in my heart. For the man I measure by is my dearest own daddy. He was my first love. I stood on his shoes and begged him, "Daddy dance with me!!!" And so he'd take my hands and we would be off. He'd sing a little diddy and I would giggle away as we twirled around the house.
I remember Sunday afternoons sitting at the foot of his chair "feeding" his feet that I pretended were funny critters. He took me to Burger King when the boys were in school and we shared fries and a strawberry shake. I gave him my Easter egg when he was working in his office. He was thrilled, until he discovered I had kept it in my room all this time and it was now smelly and in edible. Later, he took me to the Catholic weddings where I danced with the priests and fell in love with Polish cuisine. He took me visiting and laughed when the family gave me Moxie.
I loved to visit his office. It was in the house, but it was still fun to go in there and bother him. He had cannons and a cannonball stack on the bookshelf. And a frightening mountain lion carving. There was a wooden top with string that I never did figure out how to work. And there was the tiger puppet. I always imagined it was a character from Mister Rogers and Daddy was so good at making voices. And Daddy always had his glass of iced tea and peanut butter bread. When daddy hugged mommy, I would squeeze up through the middle to their great annoyance. He had names for me and I took advantage and acted on those names. I held his hand while he greeted people on Sundays.
Daddy has always had a great musical talent. He had a wonderful baritone voice and played both trumpet and trombone. I loved to hear him sing. Most people did. His horn sounded so sad a mournful and beautiful. He used to sing to us on summer nights on the porch swing in Ohio. I loved those evenings and listening to his lovely voice gently lilting like the motion of the swing.
As I grew older, I learned things about my dad. His own daddy died in his arms when he was only 17yo. Dad had dreams and wishes that never came to be. There were things he wanted to do that he never did because doors closed. And I learned that he was a mischievous boy. How he played tricks on his older brother. How he had been caught puffing a cigar -- and made to smoke it all. How he didn't like the geese down the road. And how important family was to him. I learned how artistic he was and how compassionate he was. His favorite part of his job, I think, was visiting people who were ill or shut-in. His heart was so kind and caring. His gift of creating and kind care for people contributed to the creative and compassionate person that I am.
There are things I am ashamed of when it comes to my dad. The foolish things children do that tear at the heart of a parent. And the words that cut deeper than we mean for them to do. But overall, I think our relationship went beyond those moments. And while we disagreed as adults on some of the things most dear to his heart like the doctrine he loved so much and the church that he was ever faithful to even through hurt and disappointments, we could agree wholeheartedly on our love for the Lord.
And so, this man, who was my first love, my teacher, and example, and the one who often acted "as bad as the kids" somehow became a ruler for what a man should be. And when the time came for me to fall in love, I fell for a man very much like my own, dear daddy.
My father, lover of his family who cried when we were dropped off at camp, college, and every time we said goodbye...Yes, my Ski loves his kids and if he watches films with father son/daughter scenes, you can bet he will get blinky-eyes. My father, who made us swoon with his tender singing voice....is like my Ski who I love listening to when he sings. My father, with a tender heart towards his wife who called her sweet names...and my Ski who writes me lovely things and tells me daily how beautiful I am. My father's deep compassion for others mirrors that dear and servant heart in my Ski. And my father's wicked sense of humor...I see more of that in myself, but Ski always makes me laugh.
And so, as I sit her on his birthday, I just have to smile when I think of my dear, dear father. I have become so much like him in some ways and in others, I see him reflected in the man who took his place as the love of my life. And while his place is different now, my love for him has not wavered all of these years.
I miss hearing the stories about his life, his hopes and his dreams. I miss hearing him play his horn. He still makes my children giggle with delight and he still has that sparkle in his eye that I love so much. But now I remember for the both of us and I cherish every moment I can have where we can laugh and where I can tell him I love him and he knows. And I'll cry every time I hear the mournful sound of a trombone or a sad muted trumpet.
Cherish your time!!
