A Father - Daughter Thing

I've been thinking about my Dad a lot lately; he turned 80 this past May and I can't believe he is that old.  Even when I go home and see him, it just doesn't seem like him.  He's been deeply changed by Parkinson's disease; his macular degeneration has pretty much robbed him of his sight and simple speech is difficult for him.

I am one of those textbook daughters who grew up thinking her dad could do anything. ANYTHING.  One of my life's earliest memories was waking up in my bed and finding my pillow was missing.  (Even at a very young age, I valued  sleep above my life.)  I looked all over the bed, made sure my sister didn't have it, looked under the bed, etc. and by then had worked up some pretty tragic angst.  I was so upset that I padded in to my parent's bedroom and woke up......my dad.  (I knew early on not to mess with my mother.)  I woke him up and told him my sorrows. He got up, took me back to bed, and managed to find my pillow wedged between the mattress, the headboard and the wall.  I thought he was a genius.

Shortly after that I remember Dad coming home from work and being greeted by the mayhem of 6 kids and a tired wife.  (If I came home to that every night I think I would shoot myself.)  Dad tended to roll with it. As a father in the days when the 'bonding' thing wasn't so much, he didn't feel too obligated to share every second of our lives.  He did do one thing that still makes my head explode when I think about it.  He would pick me up around the waist, lift me up,  bump my head on the ceiling and whisker me.  Dad had a serious 5 o'clock shadow and he'd rub his cheek on mine until I would scream with laughter.  Just sitting here writing about it makes me giggle and weepy, all at the same time.

I loved watching my Dad do things around the house. I helped him (well, I held and fetched the tools) when he was making a new bedroom in the basement. I knew about hanging drywall and taping seams and the different kinds of hammers before I was out of the 5th grade.  Even in college I'd haul home the odd broken thing that needed some fixing - and he always managed to fix it up like new.  I have my own set of paintbrushes, cutting brushes and tools that I hide from my husband. My tools are  cleaned when I am done with them.  Guess who taught me that?

One of the biggest father-daughters moments happens in the back of the church before any dad walks his daughter down the aisle.  Mine was steady as a rock, but I was 30 years old -  certainly no child bride.  My brother (a priest) claims I was the calmest bride he has ever seen.  So it was a little weird when Dad turned to me and said, "Are you sure about this?"  I thought he was joking.  And he was.  Kind of.  I said, "Yeah, this is the right guy and I want to do this."  There was a pause, and then he said, "Well, I just want you to be sure. Because if you have any doubt we can go right back home and it won't be any big deal."    And he meant it.  And I loved him for loving me so much.

There is a strange and wonderful thing that happens now when I go home to see my Dad.  I am  so deeply grateful he still recognizes his children because that moment when I walk in to his room and see him I feel like that 9-year-old girl in the picture.  He looks at me like I am still the nine-year-old girl in the picture  and he wraps his arms around me and hugs me as hard as he can.  For those few seconds he is my Daddy, and I am his Joannie Kay.  It feels blissful. It is that most priceless gift of a parent's love for a child and a daughter's ardent love of her father.

Happy Father's Day, Daddy.    I won't be able to see you tomorrow, but I'll probably spend some time watching the Weather Channel -  because I know that far away, you'll be watching it too.