“There are places I’ll remember… all these places had their moments… In my life, I’ll love you more…” (Lyrics: In My Life by the Beatles)

Father’s Day is a day to celebrate our Dads.  A day to show them how special they are and how much they mean to us.  Sometimes we give them token gifts or serve a BBQ dinner.  This year, I wanted to write down some of my special Dad memories.  A few of the reasons I love him as much as I do.  These aren’t all of them, but instead are the ones that came to my mind randomly.

• It’s late but Mom let me stay up to see him because he promised he wouldn’t be “much” longer.  He should’ve been home earlier, even at the tender age of four or five I know this.  Finally, I heard a noise outside and see Mom check the window, and with a disgusted groan, I can tell he’s home and did something she wasn’t happy about.  So, I got up and can see dad coming to the door with a bundle.  He brought me a puppy!  A cute little mutt that I later named Cap (after a toy baby bottle cap that was lying on the coffee table).  I adored him for that, for going against Mom (even though she would be the one taking care of the finger biting pain in the rear puppy!).
• I’m little, about seven I think, and I can remember sitting behind Dad on the sofa.   It’s his time to rest, and yet he sits patiently while I sit and play beauty parlor with him.  Combing his short hair and trying to make it into a “pretty” style.  He would pretend it was a bother but I know deep down he loved every minute of sitting there and getting “pretty” for me.
• The smell of bacon and eggs on Sunday morning was common when Dad was home from work.  He enjoys a nice home cooked breakfast.  First, though, I would crawl into bed between my parents as they read the paper, and wiggle and cuddle with them.  Usually ending up rubbing his chest hairs – for some reason they always fascinated me.  After breakfast, however, he would move to the living room.  I also remember watching Sunday morning movies with him sometimes: Our Gang, Shirley Temple, The Bowery Boys or Bob Hope movies.  Other times, we would play double-handed solitaire.  I cherished those days.
• The lunch bell rang.  I lived about three blocks from school, so I could run home to eat lunch at home, and then get back before the lunch bell rang again.  Sometimes, no one would be there and I would rush a quick bite to eat on my own.  Sometimes Dad would be there with lunch ready and waiting, and we would eat together.  It was always comforting to sit and have lunch with him, even if the conversation was awkward.  Still, there were still other times, when he would go out before I got there.  However, he would have the table set, lunch ready on a plate in the fridge.  Sometimes it was just a hello written on a scrap of paper, or a love poem on paper napkin.  A rose picked from the garden laying next to my plate.  Somewhere I have those sweet notes; the little tokens that he cared enough to make me feel special.  I can still remember one poem, as silly as it was… “I love you, I love you, I love you, I do.  If I had a donut, I’d give you the hole.”  He’s not a man of many words or emotions.  He doesn’t dote on us.  However, those little gestures of love went a long way for me.  Even though I always knew he felt that way, I Just wish there were more of them.
• Until I got married, not a Valentine’s Day ever went by that he didn’t make sure I received a Valentine in the mail and when I was younger, always a pretty, red heart box of chocolates.  I have to say that when I got married, and even though I had my husband, I missed not getting my annual Valentine from Daddy. 
• Have you even been close to a neighborhood fire? Do you know what that sort of smoke smells like? Mix that particular smell with the smell of the rubber from his coat and boots and mix in some after-shave and that’s what I think of when I smell fire.  I think of my Dad.  I love that smell.  It takes me back to every trip to the firehouse to see him while he was working.  It takes me back to that proud feeling of knowing that Daddy would keep the neighborhood safe for us.  Of knowing that my friends thought he was special and looked up to him for what he did for a living.
• It’s nighttime, though not very late.  Although Dad usually enjoys a drink after work, he rarely drinks at home.  That’s why I can tell this is different.  He’s at the kitchen table with a bottle and a glass.  He’s visibly upset, and I don’t exactly know why.  I stay in my room because he and Mom are talking in hushed voices.  I can hear him pouring a drink or two.  I can hear the catch in voice and later the sobbing as he told Mom what happened at work that day.  There was a really bad fire, and he couldn’t get to the child in time enough to keep him/her alive.  The baby died, and he had to carry it out of the building.  It was that night that I knew that Daddies aren’t always sure of themselves and that they feel real pain.  That was the night that I wanted to run to Dad, throw my arms around him and tell him that I loved him even more just because he tried; but I didn’t want him to know that I heard.   I wished I could take that particular day away from him or at least show him that what happened was FAR from his fault.
• Every year when I was small, I both dreaded and looked forward to Lent.  Dad would do an annual physical and spiritual cleansing of his body.  He would diet, stop smoking and drinking.  The first week or so during this time, where ALWAYS a pain because he’d be markedly grouchy.  After that, however, I loved it.  Then it was a pleasure to have Dad around.  My father has an infectious and mischievous sense of humor.  I think I must get that part of my personality from him.  We would laugh and just enjoy having him around.  I love those memories.  When he wants to, he can have a great deal of self-control.  I’ve always admired that about him.
• It’s very late and I’m half-asleep.  I can barely get my clothes off and the phone rings.  It’s dad saying that Mom will have the twins (my brothers) soon.  He tells me that Gram and Aunt Yvette are on their way back to the hospital.  So I rush to change again, and run down the stairs to meet them, and we rush back to the hospital.  “Soon” turns out to take quite a bit longer though.  Then, suddenly, the doors burst open and we see nurses and doctors rushing two incubators towards the nursery.  They are followed closely behind by my Dad, who has the most amazing smile and look of love on his face.  I can still hear him saying “I have sons!”  Although I love that moment with all my heart, I always wonder if his look was the same when they had me.  I hope it was.
• My Mother’s smile was a mile wide.  My brothers and I at her side in a crowded room, waiting to hear Dad’s name as he was being sworn in as Fire Captain.  It was a big day for us, but more so for him.  He worked hard to get there.  I know that it was a big deal for him.  For a long time, I think he was afraid to try.  He and I are a lot alike in that way.  I think he decided more for the family than for his own need.  He knew it was a good financial move and we would all benefit.  To tell you the truth though, I’m glad he did it for HIM.  He always knew he could to do the work and do it well, but I think he doubted the testing and the managerial part of the job.  I’m glad he took the chance and proved to himself that he was capable.  I am still as proud of his accomplishments to this day, as I was the first day we could call him Captain.
• When I was a little girl, before my brothers were in the picture, I can remember that my father’s favorite piece of chicken was the drumstick.  After the boys were born and growing up, I can remember that my brother Brian liked the “handle” chicken as he called it.  All of the sudden, Dad’s tastes changed and his favorite piece of chicken became the wing.  That’s when I understood what being a parent meant and why people do the things they do for the people they love.  It sounds silly, but I think of Dad and Love every time I eat drumsticks.
• My parents sold their house in the city and bought a new one about 50 miles from where we used to live.  The hard part was the commute.  We (mom, dad and I) all still worked in the city.  During that time, Dad and I would commute together.  At first, I was not thrilled about it.  It meant I would have to wait almost an hour in the car for him to be done with his job for the day.  Then we would have an hour-long drive, sometimes in silence.  Conversation was awkward at times, but little by little I think that time forced together made our relationship stronger.  It put us in a situation where we would eventually talk and sometimes stay silent, but the silences became less awkward.  I think we began to respect each other for what we were – working adults.  
• He’s at my side.  We’re arm in arm behind closed doors, waiting to hear the music.  He says, “Are you ready, kid?” And, I reply “Yes”.  Then he asks if I’m sure I want to go ahead with it, and again I say yes.  He squeezes my arm and kisses my cheek just as the music starts and the doors open.  Dad escorts me down the isle toward another wonderful man, and toward the next part of my life.

 

Not all of my memories are great.  Some hurt, some confuse me and some just make me angry.  But, there are a lot more than those above that make me smile and give me the security to know that I am loved.  Thanks, Dad.  In my life, I’ll love you more.