Today's my dad's birthday, and just like every year I'm hoping his card gets to him on time, because I always wait till the last minute and beyond to get it in the mail. But every year I have it picked out and bought in plenty of time, and I always pick it the same way. It's the one that makes me cry, right there in the card aisle.
So much of what I see at work day-to-day reflects all kinds of dysfunction, all kinds of crappy parenting -- and it all makes me that much more thankful for the idyllic childhood I was blessed with. Since I can remember, Dad was always there, always down on the floor playing with me, being silly with me. Pushing me in the big tire swing he made for me, making craft projects with me, pulling me around the yard in my sled, playing reporter and asking cheesy interview questions with a handheld tape recorder ("Oh, you made a snowman with Sno-Drift paste! How patriotic!!" Yes, that *is* a direct quote. Funny how some things stick in your head, including the exact place on the living room floor where I laid on my belly right then, grinning wildly.)
My dad is one of the funniest people I've ever known. While in college with a geeky double major in electronics and computer science, he penned the following:
Elmer's Glue is so good,
It sticks things so tight.
If you don't believe me ask old Elmer -
He's stuck to a kite.
Okay, maybe it isn't as funny to everybody else as it is to me, but it still gives me fits of giggles. All through childhood I'd run across similar manifestations of his goofiness. Things like a recipe he'd written down for his favorite fruit salad. The recipe, "Yummy Good Salad," was really in there, with the real parts slyly embedded between gems like "store uncovered in damp, dark place for 6 months," "scrape off mouse droppings, stir in, and enjoy." Funny pictures, everywhere, none of which I have quick access to for purposes of this post. So all through the years, I think my desire to be thought of as funny has been driven by my quest to make Dad laugh. (And conversely, the worst fate I can imagine is to see a look of disappointment on Dad's face.)
As I got older, though it took me a long time to realize it, my subconscious mind was trying to steer me in the direction of A Man Like My Dad. Granted, I missed the mark plenty of times. And bless his heart, even those boys he didn't like, he didn't forbid me to see. He just let me figure it out on my own, and every so often facilitated an impromptu family obligation to keep me from getting into trouble. I think eventually I got it figured out, and I think it's funny that I'm married to a man who even happens to watch the same damn TV channels (Fox News, the History Channel, TLC, etc...)
The other thing that's always amazed me about Dad is his uncanny ability to fix anything. Anything. I don't know whether that comes from book learnin', or lots of experience tearing things apart and putting them back together (rather, I suspect, a mixture of the two), but it's always a no-brainer for me to call Dad when I need to figure out how to fix something I screwed up. (Funny, a while back my sister-in-law told me that Step 2 of any of her do-it-yourself home renovation projects is usually "Cry, and then call Dad.") I've always wished I had that same aptitude, and I did my darnedest to absorb everything I could when I was outside working on various projects with Dad, from helping shingle the roof on the new addition when I was about 5 (I'm sure I was the exact opposite of help, but he let me think my assistance was valuable) to restoring a snazzy little Triumph Spitfire convertible when I was in high school (that turned out to be way too much car for my dumb ass)...but still, I call Dad.
And that's the deal. Just like when I was little and cute, Dad's still always there. I've been a pain in the ass in plenty of ways through the years ("Erica Lee, if that truck ever smells like beer again, it will stay parked.")... but it might come as a surprise to him that his frequently-offered tidbits of wisdom (I call 'em Randallisms) have stuck, good and firm.
"
Use your head."
"
Be aware of your surroundings."
"
Don't run amok."
I say these very things to my own kids, and I imagine one day they'll say them to theirs.
So thank you, Dad, for everything you've done and everything you are. Thank you for always being there, for always being patient, and for always believing in me. You're everything a Dad should be, and I appreciate you more than I ever do a good job of expressing. I'm so proud to be your daughter, and I'm thankful that my kids have such an amazing Pappa. I love you.
(and now I'm crying again)
Happy Birthday Dad!
