Happy Birthdy Daddy!!

My father was raised by an alcoholic mother and a physically abusive step-father. They made it their life’s mission to make sure he grew up with no self confidence and a lot of anger. The only thing that saved him from prison or death was the fact that he joined the Air Force and he married my mother. As his birthday nears (December 9th), I am walking back through my life and looking at all of the ways in which he molded me.

My youngest memories are of riding on his back like a horse and my older memories consisted of him giving me a ride to the bus stop on his bicycle (he rode it to work). Looking back over the years my Dad taught me so much and probably not things that most Dad’s taught their daughters. He taught me to play football, not just the rules of the game but how to physically play the game. And play I did, whenever the neighborhood boys got together for a game I was right in the middle of it, and it wasn’t touch or flag football either, no way Jose’ it was full body tackle with no pads. I was in heaven and Daddy was on the sidelines cheering me on!!! On Sundays we sat together and watched the games on TV. We rooted for our favorite teams and argued over the calls by the officials. He taught me how to check and change the oil in my car. He also showed me how to check all the fluids and the tire pressure. He taught me my multiplication tables and how to balance a checkbook. He taught me the value of putting money aside in a savings account (I didn’t learn that lesson too well). He taught me through example the importance of volunteering and helping others and that it’s not always about us. He taught me that the world is not always fair. He let me take my falls and learn my lessons. He taught me how to run and was probably my first exposure to exercise. Mostly I played while he was running around the track but I will never forget his persistence and determination to finish. He taught me how to give HIM a massage and a good head rub. I remember having lunch dates with him—just me and him and man did I feel special. But he never showed favoritism, he would take my sister the next month on a date. He taught me how to cut grass and while my friends were spending their summers babysitting I was taking the boy’s jobs and cutting lawns in the neighborhood. He taught me how to cook gravy and mashed potatoes from scratch. One of my favorite memories is of him joining me at the piano with his guitar and we would sing together, for hours. We also sang duets together at Church and Sunday School, I was probably twelve at the time. He never put limits on me and never told me I couldn’t do something. He never laughed at any ideas that I had. He always told me to go for it. He empowered me to believe there was nothing I couldn’t achieve.

In 1985 he was diagnosed with oral cancer. He was very proud and wouldn’t talk to us about his feelings or his fears. He battled cancer for 14 years. I was with him when the oncologist told him there were no more trial studies for him to do and there were no more treatments or medications for him to try. The best they could offer was to give him medication to make him comfortable and they sent him home to die. That was the second time in my life I have ever seen my father cry (the first time was at his mother’s funeral). By this time I no longer lived at home but I would visit him often and try to give my mom a break as she was the primary caregiver. He had lost the ability to talk because the tumors were so massive, the only way he could communicate was by writing on a chalk board and towards the end he was too weak and too medicated to even do that. Sometimes we just lay on the bed together, I would read aloud to him while he dozed. I learned to feed him through a tube and to clean and medicate the tumors on his face. We planned his funeral together, right down to the pall bearers, the Church and the music, to include the bag pipes at the cemetery. He died December 2, 1999, fourteen years after he had been diagnosed with cancer. He was one week short of his 65th birthday.

My Daddy had every opportunity to be an abusive father and husband. He fought demons in his mind all of his life. I never knew how much of a struggle it was for him to be the great dad that he was, he certainly didn’t have any role models to follow, he acted out of instinct and love. He was not perfect by any means, but considering where he came from and his low self esteem he could not have raised two girls to be any more independent and self confident had he had the perfect childhood himself. He pulled himself up out of the ditch many, many times and accomplished many wonderful things in his life and touched many lives through his volunteer efforts. He taught me how to live and he taught me how to die. Happy Birthday Daddy!