The Joy of Dad

"When I was a boy of 14, my father was so ignorant, I could hardly stand to have the old man around. But when I got to be 21, I was astonished at how much the old man had learned in seven years." Mark Twain

My brother presented this famous quote on a mug to my father right around the time I was 14. My eldest brother is six years older than me, so you can understand why I thought he was a complete idiot in giving this to our Dad. Lou was starting his own life outside of our house and perhaps had begun to understand the difficulties and the complexities of the man who shared our DNA. And perhaps, had begun to see Dad emerging in him.

I have two very early memories of my Father and they are imbedded deep in my mind and heart. His laugh - deep, infectious, genuine and immediately recognizable. My Mom shared with me that my Grandmother loved to hear my Dad laugh .It was one of the first things she loved about about the man who eventually became a devoted son-in-law. We share that sentiment, my Grandmom and I. The second is his whistle. When I pucker my lips together in a tight O and force air to flow out of the oral opening, dogs cower with hind haunches rolled under and tails tucked  protectively between their legs. Clearly, this musical gene did not transfer to his daughter, for my Dad is the Pavorati of whistlers. His range is unmatched and his melodic rhythm of is simply hypnotic. I could listen for hours and was often disappointed when his concert ended. I am his biggest groupie. In fact, Christmas one year, Mom gave me a tape of Dad whistling - it is one of my most beloved treasures and one I need to transfer to the digital age. Like a soft summer rain, listening to Dad's whistle, brings me peace and comfort and joy. I also learned early on, if you heard Dad whistling, that was the time to hit him up for a big request. But, I digress.

My Dad was always around. So much so, that at times, I found him a nuisance. I mean this man was always asking me and my brothers questions at the dinner table about our days. And then he would actually listen to our answers. And yes, he would argue and tell us we were wrong, but, darn it, he was still there. He would urge us to try harder in our sporting events that he never missed. He always had advice on how we could improve our game. Even when we didn't ask. But he was there, in the stands, cheering at every game. He went to Parent/Teacher Conferences with Mom and asked why I wasn't completing homework assignments when I said I positively, absolutely had completed all my school work. I often wondered why did he care? Didn't he have issues of his own to address? And don't even get me started on the dress code, and being a lady, and manners, and work ethic and love of country and loyalty and self respect. Sigh. He was everywhere. 

Today there are approximately 322 miles between Dad and me. I am luckier than most my age to still have a Dad answer my phone calls. While he may not be at the top of his game, he still gets on the phone to talk to his "girl" and I have to admit, I miss his inquiries. As most parent/child relationships, we were not always on the same page and sometimes our words were not always comforting, agreeable or loving. But, they were always honest. Truth hurts sometimes, on both sides. But the wounds heal and the bond is stronger and in our case, closer.

You see, my Dad has suffered two strokes and while his physical self is not too different, his brain is altered. Sometimes he might not follow our conversations completely but other times, he is connecting the dots quickly and accurately. He doesn't like the phone much and conversations are short. He tires easily when we visit but he is present. But here is the best part. He is softer. His language is gentle and his heart is wide open. Dad never misses a moment to tell us he loves us. He never misses a moment to tell us he misses us. He never misses a moment to tell us he wishes he could see us more, but understands we are busy. Some people say he has regressed but I disagree. To me, Dad is in the best place - kind of like a small child. He is present for each moment, soaking in the life around him, sharing his love with his family and laughing that beautiful laugh that rings in my ears and settles in my heart. And I find myself saying "I love you" a lot more, too. And not just to him.

I am a blessed daughter and also a blessed wife who married a man who loves his children, unconditinally.  Anna is lucky. But she is almost 13 and is struggling to understand the complexities of her highly annoying, yet loving Dad. I have thought about the Mark Twain mug  often and wonder if I should give to Anna for Father's Day.  She doesn't know this yet, but there is no greater joy than the special love shared between a daughter and her Dad. I just wish it didn't take so long to realize they loved us all along. 

Happy Father's Day to all my amazing Dad relatives and friends - you have set the bar high - don't ever bring it down. May you always be annoyingly loving to your daughters.