Daddy on Father's Day

My handsome parents

When I look at this picture of my parents, I realize that they didn't have any idea about what the future would hold for them, or for their children. They ended up having seven children (one who didn't survive a premature birth), and the six remaining were all industrious, productive members of society. PJ died in 2014 of heart disease, which is what took both of my parents as well. It runs in the family, and it took my own adult son when he was 40. But today I'm going to think about and celebrate my dad.

Daddy. I always called him that, from the time I was little until after he died at the relatively young age of 62. At least, from my perspective today, it seemed way too soon. Mama was only 56 when she became a widow. My youngest sister Fia was still living at home. It was a sad time. I traveled from my home in Boulder, Colorado, to see him one last time before he died. He spent two or three days in the hospital before he finally died, but all of us who were not living at home anymore had a chance to see him, and we stayed to help arrange a memorial service. At least I think we did: it was 1979, and I have no memory of the event. I only remember the crushing grief of our loss and my solitary trip back home.

By the time he passed away, Daddy had retired from his career as an Air Force officer, and my parents had decided to find a home in Fort Worth in Texas. They had lived in the area when Daddy was stationed there in the 1950s. They found "Windswept," a rambling home on Lake Worth, across the lake from Carswell Air Force Base. It had a dock on the lake, and Mama spent the next years of her life turning that place into a home for their three youngest children. Daddy worked at General Dynamics, among other places, before retiring for good. I visited many times, and during one of my divorces (I had a few), I lived there for about six months. My sister Norma Jean and her husband Pete lived for a few years in one of the small cottages that existed at the time on the property.

This meant that the three youngest children would not live the nomadic life that the three older kids lived. I remember being quite envious of their different circumstances, but I was glad to finally have a place that we could call home. Before that time, "home" was wherever they lived. Any readers who grew up as an Air Force brat will understand what I mean.

When I was growing up, Daddy was gone for long periods of time, in what was called "TDY," or temporary duty. In some ways, I think it helped their marriage, because they had time apart and learned to appreciate each other. And they had all those kids to raise!

My parents were very social and had plenty of people who would come over to their home to drink and party. As I grew up, I thought everybody had raucous parties going on in their homes. Apparently this is fairly common for military families, not so much for others. Both of my parents were drinkers, and martinis were their favorites. I never understood the allure of hard liquor but became a wine drinker as an adult myself.

My parents both played golf, but Mama was better at it than Daddy, and over the years she garnered many awards. They were displayed in the living room, and I remember Daddy commenting once that they all had skirts for some reason. I think he was actually very proud of her ability.  Daddy loved golf in any event, and they spent many days on the golf course, wherever they lived at the time. 

I loved my father so much, and when I was a young teenager, Daddy introduced me to science fiction. We both shared a love for it, and I read everything he suggested, and we would talk endlessly about the books we both adored. I still love science fiction, even though it's not the same without him. We speculated about the universe and its origins, whether there was other intelligent life, and more. I have wonderful memories of those conversations.

My Daddy was my hero. He was always there for me when I needed him. He listened to me and taught me so many things. But most of all he was fun. —Bindi Irwin

I was only in my thirties when I lost my father, so I miss all those other memories I would have had, if things had been different. It did give me another fourteen years to be with my mother, without Daddy, and that gave me a chance to learn to love Mama in a way that would never have happened if he had still been alive. So, life takes many strange and unseen turns, but we end up learning and appreciating it all, if we just open our hearts to it. I've tried to do that, but Daddy will always live in my heart, as will Mama, and my life is better for having lived and loved with my parents. 

This will be a bit shorter than usual, I suspect, because I am feeling the pull to begin the rest of my Sunday. I'll go to the coffee shop as usual, and enjoy spending some time with my coffee shop buddies, both of whom are fathers and will be honored in whatever way their families decide is best. Fortunately, I'll get a chance to be with them first.

I hope that you will have a chance to be with your own father today, and if that is not possible, that you will spend some time thinking about him and remembering whatever might prompt some happy memories. I know that not all of us are as fortunate as I was in selecting my parents, but I do hope that some semblance of happy times will emerge from your memory banks. I know that has happened to me today, in remembering that wonderful man who was my father.

Until we meet again next week, I hope you have a wonderful time, and that you can find some way to appreciate those who love you and wish you all good things. Like me. Be well until then, dear friends.