My Dad

A dad can be so many things to a little girl growing up:  a fixer of broken things, a soccer coach, a handle bar holding supporter, for your first bike ride, without training wheels.  My dad has been all of those things and so much more. 

I didn't realize until I became an adult, that not all little girls had a daddy as loving, gentle and supportive as mine.  Which makes me appreciate him all the more as I have grown into a woman.  As I watch my husband with our own girls, I am reminded daily of just HOW important that person is in our lives.  So that we can grow up strong, confident, fierce, and sure of ourselves.  Mamas mold their daughters, but daddies do too...in a different way.

Anyone who knows my dad, understands that he is unique.  He's LOUD.  He loves to laugh.  He's bald.  And he just happens to have one leg. 

I never had to "be" someone other than just who I was during childhood, for my dad.  And honestly, growing up being the only girl and baby in the family, SO worked out to my benefit. 

One of my most prominent memories is my dad cheering from the sidelines of my soccer, volleyball, and basketball  games.  He wasn't just yelling for me; he was belting it out for ALL the girls.  My dad understood the importance of feeling validated.  And even if you totally sucked at something, he would find a way to make you feel good about how you tried your best. 

In fact, that is the most important lesson I have learned from my dad:  making mistakes is okay; it's how we grow.  I mean, how can you possibly go wrong with that advice?  I was given permission to screw up to become a better person...cool.

My dad taught me how to ride my first two wheeler: a scarlet, red ride, with a flowered banana seat, called The Prairie Flower.    Although my new bike rocked (remember this was the 70's), I was totally intimidated.  This was uncharted territory in my 6 years on the planet.  My dad, assured me that I would learn how to ride this bike.  It was okay if I fell, or felt nervous.  I would do it.

 See, here's the thing, I wasn't sure I could ride The Prairie Flower, but he WAS.  Did I fall?  Did I crash into a few parked cars?  Did I scrape my knees into bloody open wounds?  I'm sure I did.  But I don't remember that part of the experience. 

Here is what is etched perfectly in my memory: my dad running beside me, and then letting go of my handle bars.  I thought,  I am riding my bike!  No training wheels!  I'm flying!  Oh shit, how do I stop?

About ten years ago, after a long bout with circulatory issues, my dad had a below the knee amputation.  This was not an easy decision.  Nor one that was made lightly.  But my dad understood one thing:  he must go through this, in order to heal, and move on with his life.  My husband and I spent some time with him at the hospital the night before the big surgery, and when a nurse walked into the room, I requested a Sharpie marker. 

On the bottom of his "good" foot, I wrote, "NO!!! Wrong one silly!" And on the bottom of the foot that was to be removed, I wrote, "Na, na, na, na - Na, na, na, na - Hey, Hey, Hey, Good-bye!"  Yes, it was a joke, but I also wanted to ensure the correct leg was removed.  My dad was laughing, and game for this joke the whole time.  He was dying to know what his doctor's reaction to that was going to be on the operating table.

My dad's attitude during the entirety of this situation taught me who he really is.  His faith remained strong, as he not only dealt with the grieving loss of his leg, but the brutal recovery process, as well.  After about 6 months had passed, my dad set his sights on one goal:  to walk unassisted, with his new prosthesis, before the twins took their first steps.  Guess who won?

About 8 years ago, after watching my dad's success on Weight Watchers, I decided to join.  I had just given birth to my third daughter, Emma, and had close to 100 pounds to lose.  Wednesday was my weigh-in day.  And do you know who I called after every single meeting?  My dad.  "Dad, I lost 1.2 lbs this week.  That brings me to 12 pounds."  This was great news and all, but I still had a loooong way to go on this journey.  His response was always supportive, "You GO babe!  You got this!" 

When I got to my goal weight, I called him, practically in tears.  "Dad, I think I want to work for the company."  Dad said, "You should do it babe.  You are so motivating.  Look at how much weight you've lost!  You would be perfect as a leader."  Not much had changed.  Here was dad encouraging me like he did in my childhood, when in reality, I was a grown woman. 

More often than not, I find that I still need that non-judgemental, encouraging type of love, that comes only from a parent's heart.

About 2 years ago, I received a phone call from my mom that was life-changing.  Calmly, she explained that my dad had been bleeding internally, and was in emergency surgery at Kaiser.  I tailspinned.  I lost connection with reality.  I cried uncontrollably.

Shortly after reaching the hospital, dad came out of surgery.  He asked for me.  I went in, solo, shaking.  My dad was laying on the bed, under the blanket.  My hero, was weak, and dazed.  Had he not gotten to the hospital in time, surely the ending would be different.  This was just too close to home.  I had friends who lost their parents, but I just guess I had the naive notion, that mine were immortal.

Not so.  My dad looked up at me.  Holding my hand, he told me how much he loved me.  Trying not to totally lose it, I squeezed back, assuring him through teary eyes, that yes, I loved him too.  More than he could ever imagine.

My dad has since made a full recovery.  And we never end a phone call without saying "I love you."  Things have changed.  Forever.  It is understood, without question, that nothing is promised. 

Is any one's family perfect?  Hardly.  But I am so blessed to have mine. 

Happy Father's Day, Dad.