Dear Dad,

Today we celebrate your 82nd birthday.   Although I have only known you for just over half of that time, I (somewhat selfishly) think that it was by far the most important half.  You have been many things to many people.  You have been many things to me.  Mostly though, you have always been my dad, and I have always been Daddy’s girl.  You have taught me so many things, many intentionally and many more through happenstance.  There is so much that I owe to you (and a few things I shamelessly blame you for).  Today I wish to thank you and honour you.

The Magical Shadow

When I was 3 years old, you saved my life.  My aunt and uncle were getting married, and they had chosen me to be their flower-girl.  I was painfully shy,  and many people felt I wouldn’t be able to handle the responsibility or the experience of it.  I remember my peach-coloured dress and my white two-buckle shoes (I loved those shoes more than anything in the world).  The little wicker basket of flowers held in my tiny kid-gloved hands probably shook as I slowly walked the aisle, petrified yet determined to do my most-important job.  Silent tears rolled down my cheeks as I walked.

You were so proud of me and wanted to cheer me up, so as soon as the ceremony was over you took me outside for some fresh air.  It was a dazzlingly bright day as we stood on the sidewalk together.  I was admiring the way my shoes shone in the sun.  You took it upon yourself to show me some of nature’s magic.

“Look down at your shadow,” you instructed.  I saw it boldly stretched out in front of me.

“Close your eyes…and turn around.”  I did as I was told.

“Ok, now open your eyes and see what has happened to your shadow.”

You had no idea what you had done.  There was nothing that could have prepared you for the sudden sheer terror of your 3 year-old-daughter.  …see what has happened to your shadow…  Your words echoed in my head as I squeezed my eyes as tightly shut as I could, terrified of what you had done to my poor innocent shadow.  Convinced that some horrible creature now stood on the sidewalk attached to my feet instead of my child-shaped shadow, I screamed incessantly.  I wouldn’t stop until you had scooped me up and carried me to the shaded stairwell of the church.

I used to recall this as the first (and only) time you scared me half to death.  That wasn’t what it was.  That was the first time you saved me from the nightmares that haunted a little girl’s overactive imagination.

Jack of All Trades

You had a lot of different jobs as I grew up.  I remember having to stop and think whenever people asked me what my father did for a living.  Eventually, I settled for a coy response that there really wasn’t anything that you hadn’t done for a living.  There is much I learned from watching you move from job to job.

I learned that there was a time to speak up and a time to keep your mouth shut.  You showed me first-hand  what the consequences could be for having too strong an opinion that was contrary to that of your superiors.

At any specific moment I may have been frustrated with your apparent inability to stay in one career for very long.  In retrospect, you taught me a far more important lesson.  You never gave up.  You never stopped trying.  When one door closed, you looked for the next.  You didn’t deem anything beneath you, and you gave everything a fair shot.  You showed me that sometimes (perhaps often) things don’t work out the way you plan, but you never let it stop you.  What happened in the past is done and cannot be changed.  Keep moving forward.

Real Life Skills

All of your career path deviations benefitted me in an unusual way.  As a daddy’s girl, I spent a lot of time with you.  I was a bit of a tomboy and certainly wasn’t afraid of hard work.  Through your various work endeavors, I gained a lot of basic life skills.  You would give me a hammer, some nails, and some random scraps of wood and I would pound away for hours.  I had access to cans of paint and paintbrushes.  I watched you mask corners and edges, helped you paint walls, climbed ladders to clean out gutters or paint eaves that you couldn’t reach.  You patiently explained to me the process of spacing and grouting tiles, and you showed me how to use tile-cutters, wire-strippers, and soldering irons.  Thanks to you I am confident that I can deal with pretty much anything that comes up around the house.

Driving Ace

When I was 16, you took it upon yourself to teach me to drive.  I took the basic course offered through the high school, but for all of my hands-on real road experience, you were the driving ace.  Not satisfied with the quiet side-streets of our suburban neighborhood, you had me drive you all around the big city.   I will never forget my white-knuckled trip over the narrowest bridge over the inlet.  It took me a long time to forgive you for having me drive in the center lane, knowing that it was going to close mid-crossing for the scheduled lane-direction switch at rush-hour.  To this day I don’t believe that you mistakenly had me drive through the single-most confusing 5-way intersection of major roadways.  I think I might have screamed all the way through that experience.

It still surprises me that you had the patience/courage to guide me through every busy byway you could think of.  In 30 years of driving since then though, I’ve never had a major accident (that was my fault).  I credit your training for that.  Thank you.

Perspective

An important lesson you taught me was to always maintain perspective.  Growing up, I was the epitome of a goody-two-shoes, but my brother was absolutely not.  By the time he graduated from high school there really wasn’t much that he hadn’t  done as far as mischief and misdemeanors.  I specifically remember one incident that really gave me a lesson in perspective.

My brother and I overlapped in junior high school for one year, as he was two years older than me.  He was famous, and I mean, really famous.  The top dawg at school,  he was the cool kid that everyone wanted to be friends with.  Teachers cringed when they saw him on their rosters.  I spent a lot of my first year at that school telling teachers that “yes he’s my brother but no I’m nothing like him,” and telling students that “yes I’m his little sister, and no that doesn’t mean I’m cool like he is.”

One week there had been a string of excitement at lunch hour each day.  In one section of the hallway (the section where I happened to have a locker where I sat and ate my lunch), the lights would mysteriously turn off at exactly the same time every day.  Nobody knew who was responsible for the blackouts, but I of course suspected my brother.  Then one day, I was confirmed.  We sat and waited for the now-predictable darkness, and weren’t disappointed.  This time however, my brother ran full-speed down the hallway laughing.  One of the old lady lunch monitors (we called them Lunch Bags) was not far behind him.

“You can’t run from me!  I saw you do it!” she bellowed after him, waving her fist in the air.

That evening my brother handed you a letter of suspension from the Vice Principal.  As you read the letter, we watched your face, trying to gauge what your reaction would be.  As expected, you exploded.

“What the heck is this?”

Your son simply shrugged.  I cringed, waiting for the fallout.

Then you surprised both of us.  You called the school.   We sat with our jaws hanging open in shock as you tore the hide off the Vice Principal for suspending your son from school for a week “A WEEK” for turning off some lights!?  You went on to remind the vice principal of all the serious trouble my brother had either caused or been involved in over the past 3 years, asserting that if he thought turning off lights was a suspendable offence, perhaps he should re-think his priorities.  I think you might also have suggested that the school fix the breaker-box so that a 10th grader couldn’t easily stick a coat hanger into it and potentially injure himself.

Perspective is a wonderful thing.

Infallible Support

Above all, you have always supported me in everything I have done.  When I was in high school, I told you that I wanted to attend university in another city.  I laid it all out, explaining that it was the best school for my chosen field (marine biology) and that the local university was too big and impersonal.  You didn’t know that the main reason I wanted to go was to room with a friend who also planned to go there.  So when my friend backed out and I told you I’d changed my mind, you wouldn’t let me give up.  You supported me all the way through my shallow poor decision, believing it was a well thought-out goal that I was simply getting cold feet about.  You dutifully drove the rented U-haul trailer back and forth for what ended up being the best 4 years of my life.

When I flew halfway across the globe to work in Japan, you brought Mom over to visit me.  You weren’t intimidated by the language barrier.  Your awkward bows and badly pronounced Japanese pleasantries charmed everyone I proudly introduced you to.  When I announced that I was planning to marry the Japanese man I’d met, you welcomed him and 7 of his friends and family into your home for our wedding.  (I think the grand total of house-guests hit 15 at one point).  You made room for my growing family to live in your home, watched us move across town, and welcomed us back again before we moved overseas.  When I brought my children back after separating from their father, you once again opened your home.   You helped me pack up yet again to move across another border and welcomed my new bursting-at-the-seams blended family whenever we came up to visit.

The Road to Come

As we celebrate your 82nd year, I look at the road to come and see a path through majestic trees.  It is difficult to see into the dark distance.  I know there will be ruts and mounds in our way.  Perhaps we will come across barriers, and there may be washouts or fissures to navigate.  You have held my hand all of my life.  Now it is my turn to hold yours.  It is my honour and pleasure to walk through the woods with you.  It is my turn to save you from menacing shadows and guide you through confusing intersections.  Lean on me as we go, for you have given me all the strength I need.

Thank you, Dad.

I love you to the end of days.