All of a sudden I was struck with the reality that tomorrow my father, the young, vibrant, active young dad will turn 75. He can't be 75 because he travels every where. Literally. My girls will often discuss the how many countries Grandpa hasn't' been to. There aren't that many.
More importantly, when I sat down to write down 75 wonderful things about my dad I was stuck, not because I couldn't come up with them, but because I couldn't stop. And I couldn't possibly count the people's lives that he's touched throughout his 75 years in a positive manner, whether it just be passing through, or something more permanent. He's generous to a fault. He's kind. I found out many years later that he loaned money to people that we had no clue needed it, not that he had it to lend. I don't think he ever got it back. I don't think he wanted it back. He's just that kind of guy.
Sure, he's an only child -- still at 75 we have to work around schedules because he doesn't quite get the ones that the kids sometimes have days that schedules have to be changed vastly different from the originally planned. He's not quite sure we're raising his grandchildren the way he would, but he's quick to say that he's going to stay out of it. And stay out of it he does, until the next time it comes up. He's diabetic and forgetful. He adores music of all kinds, and finds wonders in each of his grand children even though he may not always understand their choices.
I remember when Keith Ryan broke up with me in 10th grade. I'll never forget it. I was, of course, heart broken because I was convinced we were meant to be together. I remember it was after dinner and the dishes were done. The light over the kitchen sink was still on. (It was always practically pitch black in our house. Once you were out of the room, all the lights went out, except the one over the sink.) I got off the phone and I began to cry. I wasn't sure how I truly felt, but I knew crying would always make it better. My poor father stood there, not sure at all, in deed, if crying was going to solve again. But before I knew it his arms were around me and I was crying into his shoulder. He just held me until I could cry no more. I believe I got over Keith Ryan the next day, and I know it was because I got it all out that night with my Daddy, who is still trying to get me to call him Dad. As a matter of fact, when I was 14 I wanted to be "different", so I changed the spelling of my name from Kathy to Kathie. It didn't make me different, it use made it virtual impossible to get anything preprinted with my name on it. But he still writes my cards to "Kathy" and signs them "Dad".
My sisters and I all have the same first initial -- "K" -- and one year for Valentine's day he bought a old "K" charm with a small diamond chip in it for us to share. And share we did, because it was thoughtful. It was silly and my own children now wouldn't get it maybe, but we did. We laugh about it now because he denies it and so many of our stories when we are together, but he is and always will be my Daddy.
Daddy he will always be, in my mind and in my heart. He was probably the first person I used an forbidden word to, yet he was the last person I hugged when my mother died and I had to come home to my own family, and had to leave him behind with his grief. He loved my mother with all his heart and soul and they taught us about love, and forgiveness, and change, and cooperation, and peace.
He's a man who stands up for what he believes, who taught us to do the same. He can be overbearing, like his daughters at times, but he is generous, and kind, and strong, and endless. I will never, ever be able to thank my God for all the "extra" years I've had him for so long past when I had my mother. I'm hoping for at least another fifteen years. What do you think, Daddy?
Love,
Kathie
More importantly, when I sat down to write down 75 wonderful things about my dad I was stuck, not because I couldn't come up with them, but because I couldn't stop. And I couldn't possibly count the people's lives that he's touched throughout his 75 years in a positive manner, whether it just be passing through, or something more permanent. He's generous to a fault. He's kind. I found out many years later that he loaned money to people that we had no clue needed it, not that he had it to lend. I don't think he ever got it back. I don't think he wanted it back. He's just that kind of guy.
Sure, he's an only child -- still at 75 we have to work around schedules because he doesn't quite get the ones that the kids sometimes have days that schedules have to be changed vastly different from the originally planned. He's not quite sure we're raising his grandchildren the way he would, but he's quick to say that he's going to stay out of it. And stay out of it he does, until the next time it comes up. He's diabetic and forgetful. He adores music of all kinds, and finds wonders in each of his grand children even though he may not always understand their choices.
I remember when Keith Ryan broke up with me in 10th grade. I'll never forget it. I was, of course, heart broken because I was convinced we were meant to be together. I remember it was after dinner and the dishes were done. The light over the kitchen sink was still on. (It was always practically pitch black in our house. Once you were out of the room, all the lights went out, except the one over the sink.) I got off the phone and I began to cry. I wasn't sure how I truly felt, but I knew crying would always make it better. My poor father stood there, not sure at all, in deed, if crying was going to solve again. But before I knew it his arms were around me and I was crying into his shoulder. He just held me until I could cry no more. I believe I got over Keith Ryan the next day, and I know it was because I got it all out that night with my Daddy, who is still trying to get me to call him Dad. As a matter of fact, when I was 14 I wanted to be "different", so I changed the spelling of my name from Kathy to Kathie. It didn't make me different, it use made it virtual impossible to get anything preprinted with my name on it. But he still writes my cards to "Kathy" and signs them "Dad".
My sisters and I all have the same first initial -- "K" -- and one year for Valentine's day he bought a old "K" charm with a small diamond chip in it for us to share. And share we did, because it was thoughtful. It was silly and my own children now wouldn't get it maybe, but we did. We laugh about it now because he denies it and so many of our stories when we are together, but he is and always will be my Daddy.
Daddy he will always be, in my mind and in my heart. He was probably the first person I used an forbidden word to, yet he was the last person I hugged when my mother died and I had to come home to my own family, and had to leave him behind with his grief. He loved my mother with all his heart and soul and they taught us about love, and forgiveness, and change, and cooperation, and peace.
He's a man who stands up for what he believes, who taught us to do the same. He can be overbearing, like his daughters at times, but he is generous, and kind, and strong, and endless. I will never, ever be able to thank my God for all the "extra" years I've had him for so long past when I had my mother. I'm hoping for at least another fifteen years. What do you think, Daddy?
Love,
Kathie
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