Happy Birthday Dad.
We still miss you, even though it's been over 5 years.
You would have been 69, the love number. Tee hee. I would have liked to joke about that all year and I think you would've smiled.
Monday, February 20, 2012
Sunday, June 19, 2011
Thursday, September 23, 2010
I Still Miss You
To quote my brother, Ed, "I Still Miss You."
This is the song I heard on the way to the hospital four years ago.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hOStF4q0zZI
It still gets to me, four years later.
Dad, I miss you, too.
This is the song I heard on the way to the hospital four years ago.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hOStF4q0zZI
It still gets to me, four years later.
Dad, I miss you, too.
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
Memories of My Dad
It's been three years now since Dad left us.
This week has been particular poignant in remembering my Dad, since his mom, my GrandMom, passed away just this past Friday. She was 85 and lived a good, long life, so her passing was not quite the shock that my Dad's was. Her funeral was yesterday and the pastor asked us all if we wanted to share any memories of her. No one spoke, but I don't think it was because we didn't want to share, and I'm sure it wasn't because we forgot all those memories, but I think it's just so hard at the time, when someone close has just died, and you're at their funeral...I just can't imagine how anyone can muster up the focus needed to say something or anything, especially when there's the added pressure to be witty/caring/memorable/etc.
But it did get me thinking it would be nice to share memories of our loved ones. And we don't have to do it only at the funeral (that's just crazy talk!). So, with that in mind, I'd like to share a few memories of both my Dad and my GrandMom. I've decided to share both a happy memory and a not-so-happy one.
First, my GrandMom. My happy memory of her is when I used to visit Comic Book Kingdom and then walk from there back to her house. She would always make me and my friends something to eat and never cared that I always seemed to show up unannounced. GrandMom was cool to me like that.
My not-so-happy memory of my GrandMom is, of course, the happy stick. (((Shiver))) This was a stick or switch, as she called it, that she made us go get whenever we were bad (and I was bad a lot). She "whip" us with it until we were "happy". Yea! How I hated that damn "happy stick", but, funnily enough, I 'm happy now that she used it. (Lord knows I needed it!)
For my Dad, I'd like to say a happy memory of him was when he taught me how to do multiplication. I was like, 7, I think, and I remember my Dad showing me how you could figure out the single digit by single digit stuff, but that it was best to just memorize those and use that as building blocks for the more complicated stuff. My Dad was much smarter than his limited education would make you think and he was particularly good at memorization. I'll never forget that lesson, it was one of my best.
For a not-so-happy memory of him, I just have to think about "the belt". Whenever I was out of line (again, a lot), he would make me "hug the wall" and get out "the belt". These were terrible, horrible times for me. Times when I wouldn't share with my sisters or had fought with them. Dad was always there with his belt to make me come correct! I hated him for a while during my childhood, not understanding then, as I do now, that what he was doing was the only way he knew (thanks, in large part to my GrandMom and her "happy stick") to teach me to act correctly, be strong, and accept responsibility for my actions. The funny part is that, most times after getting "the belt", he made you sit beside him afterwards. He might even make you tell him that you love him. The indignity of it all! It was all a grand lesson in humility. Even though I call this a not so happy memory of my Dad, I actually am really happy that he did what he did. My Dad made me who I am today and I like that a lot.
Thanks Dad for all the memories, both happy and not-so-happy. They remind me how much you cared for us, how passionate you were about making us good people, how you took the time to teach us, sometimes in ways we didn't understand, and how much you loved us. I'll never forget you.
This week has been particular poignant in remembering my Dad, since his mom, my GrandMom, passed away just this past Friday. She was 85 and lived a good, long life, so her passing was not quite the shock that my Dad's was. Her funeral was yesterday and the pastor asked us all if we wanted to share any memories of her. No one spoke, but I don't think it was because we didn't want to share, and I'm sure it wasn't because we forgot all those memories, but I think it's just so hard at the time, when someone close has just died, and you're at their funeral...I just can't imagine how anyone can muster up the focus needed to say something or anything, especially when there's the added pressure to be witty/caring/memorable/etc.
But it did get me thinking it would be nice to share memories of our loved ones. And we don't have to do it only at the funeral (that's just crazy talk!). So, with that in mind, I'd like to share a few memories of both my Dad and my GrandMom. I've decided to share both a happy memory and a not-so-happy one.
First, my GrandMom. My happy memory of her is when I used to visit Comic Book Kingdom and then walk from there back to her house. She would always make me and my friends something to eat and never cared that I always seemed to show up unannounced. GrandMom was cool to me like that.
My not-so-happy memory of my GrandMom is, of course, the happy stick. (((Shiver))) This was a stick or switch, as she called it, that she made us go get whenever we were bad (and I was bad a lot). She "whip" us with it until we were "happy". Yea! How I hated that damn "happy stick", but, funnily enough, I 'm happy now that she used it. (Lord knows I needed it!)
For my Dad, I'd like to say a happy memory of him was when he taught me how to do multiplication. I was like, 7, I think, and I remember my Dad showing me how you could figure out the single digit by single digit stuff, but that it was best to just memorize those and use that as building blocks for the more complicated stuff. My Dad was much smarter than his limited education would make you think and he was particularly good at memorization. I'll never forget that lesson, it was one of my best.
For a not-so-happy memory of him, I just have to think about "the belt". Whenever I was out of line (again, a lot), he would make me "hug the wall" and get out "the belt". These were terrible, horrible times for me. Times when I wouldn't share with my sisters or had fought with them. Dad was always there with his belt to make me come correct! I hated him for a while during my childhood, not understanding then, as I do now, that what he was doing was the only way he knew (thanks, in large part to my GrandMom and her "happy stick") to teach me to act correctly, be strong, and accept responsibility for my actions. The funny part is that, most times after getting "the belt", he made you sit beside him afterwards. He might even make you tell him that you love him. The indignity of it all! It was all a grand lesson in humility. Even though I call this a not so happy memory of my Dad, I actually am really happy that he did what he did. My Dad made me who I am today and I like that a lot.
Thanks Dad for all the memories, both happy and not-so-happy. They remind me how much you cared for us, how passionate you were about making us good people, how you took the time to teach us, sometimes in ways we didn't understand, and how much you loved us. I'll never forget you.
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
I Miss My Dad
It's been 2 years today that my Dad passed away. He died suddenly from a heart attack on September 23rd, at 10:40 AM. He was a young 63. It still feels like it was yesterday.
My dad was a tough love kind of dad. He made us say things like 'yes, sir' and 'no, sir', he didn't hesitate to discipline us the old school way, and he wasn't what you'd call touchy feely. He demanded respect (and got it), but he also gave it. Despite how tough he was on us growing up (there was 6 of us kids), I loved him for it.
My dad was the rock of my family. He never showed much emotion when life got rough. For example, I got robbed at knife point when I was a kid on my paper route and my dad was there to tell me it’s OK and to be strong. When I was 21 I got robbed (again) at gun point, and my dad was there, again, to tell me I did good because I didn't get shot. When my house burned down to the ground (lost everything, no insurance), my dad was there to go home to, and to say, hey, you think you lost everything, but you didn't, you still have the most important thing, you still have family.
At these very rough times in my life, my dad was there for me, and, like the rock he is, never showed any fear or panic. He showed strength and toughness, which was always just what I needed. He didn't say I love you much, except at these crucial times. I think he just had great timing and saved these "I love you's" for when they were most needed.
Unfortunately, I never told him I loved him back. I think I thought I was being tough, like my dad. I never found the right time and I always thought there would be more time.
It's been 2 years and I still miss my Dad. And it still hurts.
I love you, Dad.
.
My dad was a tough love kind of dad. He made us say things like 'yes, sir' and 'no, sir', he didn't hesitate to discipline us the old school way, and he wasn't what you'd call touchy feely. He demanded respect (and got it), but he also gave it. Despite how tough he was on us growing up (there was 6 of us kids), I loved him for it.
My dad was the rock of my family. He never showed much emotion when life got rough. For example, I got robbed at knife point when I was a kid on my paper route and my dad was there to tell me it’s OK and to be strong. When I was 21 I got robbed (again) at gun point, and my dad was there, again, to tell me I did good because I didn't get shot. When my house burned down to the ground (lost everything, no insurance), my dad was there to go home to, and to say, hey, you think you lost everything, but you didn't, you still have the most important thing, you still have family.
At these very rough times in my life, my dad was there for me, and, like the rock he is, never showed any fear or panic. He showed strength and toughness, which was always just what I needed. He didn't say I love you much, except at these crucial times. I think he just had great timing and saved these "I love you's" for when they were most needed.
Unfortunately, I never told him I loved him back. I think I thought I was being tough, like my dad. I never found the right time and I always thought there would be more time.
It's been 2 years and I still miss my Dad. And it still hurts.
I love you, Dad.
.
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
Happy Birthday Dad
My dad would have been 65 today. He never got to retire, but along the way he had a lot of fun with all of us, especially at Deep Creek Lake.
We miss you, Dad. Happy 65th Birthday!
We miss you, Dad. Happy 65th Birthday!
Thursday, September 20, 2007
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