I lost my father when I was 25. He had an irreversible lung disease, Emphysema, which was diagnosed during my teen years. He has been gone a long time, but I think of him daily. I will always miss him, every single day of my life. He gave me so much, and always I wonder, what would dad think about that? What would Dad do? What we have left is his memory, and his memory is cherished by many.
My brother and I were adopted, and did Dad love it when someone would say, oh, your daughter looks just like you! He would proudly say, “She’s adopted”, like I was a prize he had won. Dad often told me that Mike and I were better than any biological kids he and my mom could ever have!
I loved tagging along with my daddy, and after one visit to the drug store dad asked me where I got the candy bar I was holding. I took it from the shop and didn’t tell him. He marched me back in there to apologize to the clerk for stealing the candy bar. I never again took anything from a store without paying.
My dad taught us how to fish, and we spent a lot of time out on Rocky Fork Lake in Ohio. I loved being out on the water. After we went back home dad would clean the fish, and throw the eyeballs at me so I would scream. He made great fish fry!
We vacationed every single summer at the same hotel in Florida. No matter how many times we went, dad was sick to his stomach the first few days of the trip. His mind loved to travel, but his tummy didn’t like to leave home! Ft Lauderdale, Florida meant Ireland’s Inn, drinky poos (a Manhattan for dad), and macaroons in the room. He loved the sun, and turned darker than anyone I have ever seen. Mike, Dad and I loved the ocean and swimming (Mom…not so much!)
You could set your watch to my dad’s comings and goings. He left for work at 730 a.m. on the dot, and returned home precisely at 530 pm. When I was a kid, I was always waiting for him. I would follow him upstairs where he would change to more casual attire, then I would follow him downstairs to watch him mix drinky-poos, a Manhattan for him, a Vodka Martini for mom, then we would sit and talk until 6 pm, at which time dinner was on the table.
My dad called his mother every single night at 7 pm. He would be on the phone for at least 20 minutes. His commentary was usually, “uh huh”, “really”, “well, what do you know about that?”, and “talk to you tomorrow”. My Grandma liked to talk about everyone’s illnesses and how she was outliving them all. He listened, every single weeknight. He skipped Saturdays, but we always visited her on Sundays.
He had the goofiest sense of humor, and wore the most outrageous clothes. His hat would be plaid, pants striped with argyle socks…and when he dressed up, he always wore a bow tie, even when it was out of style.
We ate out every week, at a nice restaurant called Anticoli’s. Dad always ordered me a Shirley Temple. He relished fine dining, and when in Florida, we had a list of restaurants we went to, each one more delicious than the next.
He answered every question I ever put to him. My curiosity is endless, and so I wanted to know every single thing about his childhood, his parents, his siblings, what it felt like to be raised on a farm, what it felt like to lose two brothers, how he got along with his parents, etc. I wanted to know all about mom’s life too.
He grew up on a farm, poor, during the depression. At 10 years old he won the National Championship for 4 H in the Steer competition. He said when he realized they were going to take his steer away and slaughter it, he cried. He made a speech on national radio about his accomplishment, and when asked what he was going to do with all of that money (.80 cents a pound for the steer), he replied he was saving it so he could go to college. At 10 years old!
When my brother and I were teens, he decided he needed to hang out with us in order to stay close to us, so he would listen to Richard Pryor comedy albums and watch Saturday Night Live with us. Richard Pryor cracked him up.
When I was 17, my dad’s best friend died suddenly of a heart attack. Dad and Frank hardly ever spoke on the phone, but the night before Frank’s death, they talked on the phone for quite a while. I don’t remember who called whom. My dad gave Beckie (Frank’s wife) and Holly (his daughter) 100% of his support and assistance. We stood together at the funeral home, and I turned to dad and said, “promise me you won’t die. I couldn’t stand it.” He shook his head and said he couldn’t promise that. He told me his insurance company calculated he would die within 10 years. That was some rough knowledge for a 17 year old girl who adored her daddy. I pestered his doctor constantly about how to make him well, until the doctor took my hand and said, “Tammy. He will never be an old man.” He was 59 when he left us, only 8 years after Frank passed.
I had my first back surgery at the age of 18. The pain was indescribable. He sat by my bed and held my hand….and when I would call him from the hospital because the nurses hadn’t brought my pain shot, he would call the nurses immediately. I received my shots pretty damned quick after that.
Mom and Dad’s friends, Bob and Dottie, set me up with their nephew, Randy Minton. We all had dinner at the Oakwood Club together in Dayton, Ohio. The next morning Dad said, “What did you think?” I said, I think I’m going to marry him. Dad said, “I think so too. I didn’t hate him.” (Not I thought he was a very nice young man, but “I didn’t Hate him”!)
After I married Randy, we drove to Dallas from Dayton the next day. I have never seen my father cry so hard. He literally broke down. I understand now, as a parent of young adults, why he completely lost it that day.
Christmas was dad’s thing. He acted like Scrooge, but he loved the holiday, our Christmas Eve party (I continue that tradition), and watching us open our zillion gifts the next morning. Every Christmas Eve he would leave the house in the 
morning to do his “Christmas Eve shopping”. One more gift for each of us.
I don’t want to think too much about the worsening of his health, the fear that walked with us all, or the desperation I felt each time I saw him getting worse. It is still so painful to remember. Today is Father’s Day, and I want to remember how fortunate I was to have him as a father. Dad was a man of deep feeling and compassion, he was the glue of his family, everyone’s favorite. Funny and loving, he also had a quick temper. I washed his new car with a scrub brush and dish soap once….I have to hand it to him though, he handled it pretty well, though you could tell he was fighting hard to keep it under control. Sorry about that, Dad.
Dad was very charitable, but always quietly. He made sure the children of his employees had Christmas gifts and Thanksgiving dinners, even when his employee drank their pay, or gambled it away. After his death, I learned even more about his generosity. I was so lucky to have him as my father.
I don’t know if a part of you lives on, dad, but if it does, thank you for everything. Mike and I are thinking of you, and always laughing at something you did or said. I know you believed that a person’s heaven consisted of the memories they left behind, and the positive things others would say or think about them after they were gone. If that is the case, you live in a wonderful heaven every moment. I would give almost anything to see and talk to you again. I hope you and mom and Frank and Beckie are playing pinochle somewhere.
