My Dad

My dad gets really uncomfortable whenever someone makes a big deal over him, so if he knew that I was writing a blog entry about him, it would completely freak him out. That's why I'm glad he doesn't know about blogs yet. (I'm working on it.)

I've had a very strange relationship with my father. He was always gone or busy or crabby when I was growing up. Working 7 days on, 2 days off shifts will do that to a person. He was tough as nails when it came to impressing him, especially when it came to education. My brother had a tougher time in school than I did, but my all A report cards just never elicited the kind of reaction I was hoping for. I wanted him to be as excited as I was, but he never was. At least he never appeared to be to me. I didn't know how wrong I was about him.

At some point in my adolescence, I stopped talking to him. I was too busy with my activities and my boyfriend to be bothered with my dad. He lectured. I didn't have the time or the patience for that. He didn't understand me, so rather than argue, we just didn't talk. And when we did, I was a bitch to him. I'm not proud of that.

But then, something changed. Actually, a bunch of things changed. My grandfather, my mom's dad, died. I watched how difficult it was for my mom to deal with losing her father. I felt guilty for having blown him off much the same way that I blew off my dad. I didn't want to be standing at my dad's grave wishing I had been around more or taken the time to at least talk to him once in a while, so I started making a concerted effort to speak with him about anything. I was helped along by the need for us to discuss my plans for college. He was determined to foot as much of the bill as he could, but we needed to agree on where he'd be footing the bill to. So we talked. A lot.

He beamed the night I graduated from high school, in a way I'd never seen before. He was in his suit, the one he only wore to weddings and funerals. He cried when I gave my salutatorian speech. He told me, for what seemed like the first time ever, that he was proud of me. And then I got hired at his factory for the summer. I finally got to see what my dad went through. And we finally had something other than school and finances to talk about.

When I graduated from college, he had that same proud look. And he bought an entirely new wardrobe for the event. You have to understand, my dad does NOT buy clothes unless my mother throws out his old ones and forces him to buy new. When I asked him about it, he said that he wanted to look good for his daughter's graduation. He walked me down the aisle that summer and gave me away to my husband-to-be. I was the happiest daughter when I got to dance with my daddy at the reception. I was four again, only this time not dancing on the tops of his feet. The song could have lasted all night and that would have been OK with me.

So, now here we are. I'm divorced, and my dad is ill. We don't know what's wrong with him. We keep hoping we'll find out sometime soon. But, he still has that fabulous smile and still wants to help me fix my car, even when there's nothing wrong with it. He's always there with a hug and a kiss, and long stories that change subjects ten times before they end. He loves his family, and isn't afraid to tell us so anymore. I have had some great conversations with my dad about everything from science to religion, politics to finances, boys to being single. Through it all, he shows me what an incredible man he really is. No matter what happens to us, I'm glad that that I gave him the chance to be more to me than the guy who paid for college. He is my dad, and I hope to be as awesome as he is someday.