My dad died 15 years ago Saturday. It was hard. I cried a lot. I don't normally react that way, but subsequent blogs will let you know what's going on in my world to cause such emotions. Today I wanted to share some memories I have of my dad with all of you ....
When I was 3 or 4, my dad would have to trek less than a mile to get the milk at Cumberland Farms. I guess Publix wasn't always open and the Circle K wasn't there yet. So, he'd take his moped over to the store. And sometimes, he'd take me along -- standing between his legs on the platform of the moped. Driving to get the milk. Sweet! I know!
Then, as I got just a bit bigger, the moped didn't fit the fun any longer. Dad had gotten a Toyota Celica with a sunroof. To keep the fun of getting the milk, I got to ride along, standing in the front passenger seat, with my head out of the roof!!! Our very own extreme adventures. But, we got pulled over one day and that had to stop. But not the extreme stuff.
My grandparents lived 3 hours away and 30 minutes from Disney. We'd travel there to visit quite often. Once we went to visit the Magic Kingdom when the tickets were cheap and you had to purchase books of A, B, C, & D tickets. Since Dad was, how shall we say, a tightwad, he didn't want to pay for parking. Instead we parked at the Contemporary, coming in from the workers entrance (Dad helped program the Hall of Presidents at Disney in the 70s), traipsing over the sand dunes from the construction in making the walkway from the Contemporary to the park. Nothing like learning from a young age how to cut corners.
One summer we took a trip to Yellowstone National Park. We travelled via the rust colored Datsun 210 hatchback, affectionately called "The Pumpkin". Dad had set up a "luggage area" with a piece of plywood just under the lip of the backseat over the hatch. On the plywood, David or I could lay down with our pillow and blanket. On one stretch, Mom was driving, I was sleeping on the plywood and Dad was resting in the backseat. All of a sudden the trunk popped open, my pillow flew out the back and Dad had to quickly restrain me as Mom pulled over. They were a bit freaked, but I thought it was awesome! We did have to go back to get my pillow.
My dad had a wicked sense of humor. He liked puns, he liked thinking laterally, and he liked to laugh. He loved model airplanes. He would spend hours in the garage making models to fly whenever he got a chance. He loved classical music; he loved playing it really loud coming down the street home. He gave of himself by getting a job where ever he could -- Erie, PA; Plainsboro, NJ; St. Paul, MN; Jupiter, FL. He would transplant himself and let us stay in Florida while he worked elsewhere. And during the summers, we would join him.
He always protected, always made things work, always directed us to be respectful and always wanted to know God more. He provided for us, cared for us, defended us, and at times, like a good dad, embarrassed us. He had a gentle hand that would kindly pat our heads to remind us of his love. Mind you, he was firm, a disciplinarian, and someone who pushed us to reach our potential. Oh, and he loved his grandkids. They could call him Poppy, sit with him while he was reading and could get anything out of him -- even more than me being the baby and only girl.
He was a good dad. I liked him. I do miss him, but I am glad I could call him Dad. And as a sweet friend reminded, "He's up in heaven partying with the rest of them." Lucky.
