So today is my dad's birthday. He would have been 62, but passed away a year and a half ago. I thought about writing this when I was awake at 2am last night, but didn't. It was one of those nights where you pick up a book to read a chapter before bed, then realize you may as well stay up until morning, which I should have done because I found my children eating goldfish crackers for breakfast since I couldn't get my sleepy butt out of bed... Anyway. I'm still pretty emotional about it all and almost decided to not write this. Maybe next year, when it isn't still so fresh. Yes, 18 months is still fresh for me. But, here it is. I don't know if I'll hit "publish" yet, but... here it is - for me.
My dad was awesome. I know some of that is a child/parent perspective, but I also know that most of that is true. I know he had faults (who of us doesn't?) so I'm not making him into something he's not, but he was special. He grew up in a family of 7 kids and his dad died when he was a baby. I remember him saying he didn't know how to be a father because he didn't have an example, but he really, really did know how. He loved his family, spent time with us, made things special for us, worked hard for us, invested in us and totally took care of us. My mom did/does, too. She's an unsung hero that really needs a song.
So I don't forget, I wanted to make a list of some of my favorite things and memories of my dad, and really they're about my mom, too. So my family, I guess.
* Friday nights were special - it was prize night and fight night. We got a little candy or something when he came home from work and my brother and I got to have a "wrestling match" with him in the living room. Being a mom now, I realize how horrible this was for my mom - waiting with hands over eyes for that first scream of accidental pain. We found out years later that she set a timer for our wrestling matches and would physically wind it down herself to make it end quickly. Which was wise since there were knocked out teeth and dislocated elbows. But, all I remember was the fun of being tossed around and fighting against someone so strong and big. Which is also why I let my hubby toss around our girls and "play wild" which is what we call it in our house. With my hands over my eyes, of course.
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| Fight Night continued for many years... |
* In high school my dad would drive me to school every Friday morning. It was kind of our time to catch up, connect and spend one on one time together - even if it was only 20 min. We would always stop at Circle K and get a doughnut and small carton of milk for breakfast. And every time I took a drink of milk he would speed up so it would spill down my face, then act like he had no idea that he'd done that. Every. Time. I could have used a straw, but it would have ruined our joke.
* He was a gifted storyteller and always wanted to be a writer. I think that's part of why I write this blog. He always encouraged me to write and thought I should write a children's book. I tried and it didn't work. I'm not that kind of storyteller. It went on and on. This format works for me for some reason - I wish I would have done this before he died so he could have read it. Ever since we were very little we were told the never-ending stories about Wilbur the Ladybug. He wasn't too happy to be a "lady"bug and he and his friends had great adventures. Usually we heard about him to distract us when we were doing something unpleasant. Like laying on the counter with our head in the sink while mom tried to get lice out of our hair. Or when there was a big splinter that needed to be removed. The kind that needs a sterilized needle and an ice cube to numb it.
* He and mom invented the Silly Bugs which are
mythical creatures who visit the night before your birthday and play silly tricks on you while you're sleeping. Balloons everywhere, a spider-web of string to climb through, shoes stuffed with paper so they don't fit, socks all tied in knots... And always a little note in very silly, backwards, misspelled writing wishing us a Hapy Burfdey. When I was in my 20s and living overseas/missing my family on my birthday, I got a package from my parents and the SBs had put a little note in for me, too! I guess it was too far for their wings to fly, but they were thinking of all the tricks they'd play if I were closer. The Silly Bugs have found their way to our house and visit our girls each year, too.
* April Fool's Day was a national holiday in our family. We had a bag of jokes in the closet that we reused and "fell for" and laughed at every year. Things like a ketchup & mustard squeeze bottle that squirted out red or yellow string. A can of peanuts that had a snake pop out, and my personal favorite: a postcard saying you won a bike and to just call this number to collect it (and the number was only half readable, the rest was smudged). I remember bringing that letter in from the mailbox many times. When we got older my brother and I did more physical pranks - like taping the sprayer handle on the kitchen sink closed and pointing straight ahead so whoever turned the water on was blasted in the face. (Sorry, Katie.) At school our lunch was a crazy lunch of dyed milk, paper in our sandwich, one year there was a big rubber alligator when I opened my lunchbox. My teacher even sent home a note thanking them for such a fun lunch.
* Speaking of jokes, every night my dad would tell us a joke at dinner. But he would start them out like a real story and halfway through one of us would say, "Is this a joke?!" He loved telling Polish jokes and my favorite one is about the Polack and the cannibals... :)
* My dad was a great teacher and preached at church every so often. Of course, he would use real-life examples from home so I always sat there and wondered what crazy story he would use that Sunday.
* He also loved to sing, and had a nice voice, but since my mom, sister and I were the "singers" in the family, he always gave us the limelight. But, I remember standing next to him at church and listening to him sing hymns and loving it. I still hear his voice when I hear Tis So Sweet To Trust In Jesus, There's Something About That Name, and Blessed Assurance. Once we had a talent show at church and our whole family did a play that he wrote. I remember having to "rake leaves" as part of it, then we all sang One Step At A Time from a Psalty record.
* He also loved "oldies" from the '60s & '70s. Not so old back then. :) When he built our big shop in the backyard (my mom still lives in the house we were born in. Well, not actually BORN in, but lived in since before we were born.) he started with the deck/flooring (obviously) and we kids would use it as a stage to dance and sing on to really loud oldies music. My favorite was Indian Reservation by Paul Revere & the Raiders. I remember once he requested it on the radio for me and taped himself calling in and sent it to me on cassette when I worked at a summer camp. Oh, also my parents would use paper plates and balloons to make welcome home signs or happy birthday signs tacked to trees on roads leading up to our house with one word per sign so we'd be waiting until the next one to see what our message was. I totally forgot about that until right now!
* On Mother's Day we would get up early with him and make a special breakfast for my mom. The only thing I really remember making, though, is a fruit salad in a carved out watermelon. Can that be right?! Hmm... I do remember bringing things in on a tray for her though. Maybe the watermelon was for New Year's Day brunch. We still got up early to help with that, too.
* He made really good breakfasts. Fried eggs over medium were his specialty. We loved the "moojh/maash" of the yolk on toast and his crispy hash browns. Hot breakfasts are still my favorite.
* He comes from a Polish family and gave us (me?) a love for Polish things. I remember doing a report on Poland, buying a Polish phrase book that my friend Sarah and I put to good use in the mall, pretending to be foreign... and my first (only?) Polish Polka record, which I still have and play. My favorite song on it is Those Were The Days (my friend) and I could sing along in Polish. Could. I also knew insults in Polish, my favorite being: May a chicken kick you in the shin. It sounds much meaner in Polish, so I'll keep that one to myself so you don't get in any fights.
* On New Year's we would stand on our front porch and bang pots and pans together and jingle change in our pockets to signify a prosperous new year. I remember him handing out handfuls of change to us. I still do that but it's usually just me and it feels a little weird. I'll teach the girls when they're older and not sleeping at 9pm.
* My dad also stuck up for me no matter what. Warning: confession of shame ahead! When I was a teenager my friend Jenni and I walked to a big grocery store a few stores down from my family's Christian Bookstore that we owned. While there were grabbed a couple of those little flavored tootsie rolls out of the bulk bin to eat while we walked around. I know, I know. Stealing is stealing. Well, I always wore big cardigans back then (shocking, I know) and we were in the store a long time and I must have put a couple of the candies in my cardi pocket and not even realized it. As we were walking out, the security guard grabbed me and asked me to empty my pockets. I honestly had NO idea what he was taking about. As I put my hand in, my heart sank. I pulled out the candies and was taken upstairs to the security office where all my info was taken, he threatened to call the police, and I was banned from the store. He walked with me to our store and asked to meet with me and my dad in the back room. I was so ashamed and humiliated and scared that I'd disappointed my dad. But - he was mad. I've never seen him so mad. He didn't ok my wrong, but let that guy know that it was ridiculous for him to waste time and money on 3 cents worth of candy. To humiliate a young girl who isn't a trouble-maker and I'll tell you, that guy left with his tail between his legs. I felt so protected and loved. And knew that no matter what, my parents had my back.
* My dad taught me to drive, too. In a station wagon that had a lever, like a turn signal one, as the horn button for some reason. It was broken and glued in so it didn't work. I remember them asking me to honk the horn during my test and having to explain that it was superglued into the car and wouldn't work. Awkward! Dad was a truck driver for a delivery company for a long time (and had one very tan left arm and very white right arm to prove it!) until he started working in the office-end of that, and I always aspired to be a great driver, like him. I think that's why I loved playing Pole Position (if you don't know this reference, it's a sad day for you, my friend.) I hated driving at first. I didn't get my license until I was almost 18 because I was too afraid of that kind of power. Now I love it - ha! My first car was my beloved Toyota Camry, a stick-shift. I had a car, so I had to learn how to drive a stick. He took me to the empty parking lot behind Target to practice and honestly, I don't like driving automatics. The Explorer I have now is the first automatic I've had, and I prefer a manual transmission. My mom and sister never learned to drive a stick, although I've offered to teach them! But, my sister lives in Seattle, so even I'd be nervous on those hills!
* He also drove a Seattle city bus for a while, too. He had regular customers and would get to know them. He'd do games and trivia contests for them to make their ride fun. He was a people person who invested in people.
* We have a basketball hoop in front of our house and that's another thing I remember and appreciate about my dad. He was the block dad. All the kids would come to our house to play and shoot hoops with him. His hook shot was his famous shot and he always won when we played horse - well, when he didn't let us beat him. I played a lot of basketball on our street with him and my brother and the other kids. We were a safe place and people could tell that he was a good, safe dad. My husband is like that, too. I love it. Growing up, one of our neighbor boys was very troubled and still lives there, involved in drugs and gang stuff. He still would seek out my dad and my dad still invested in him, giving him food, attention and making him feel like he's a valuable person. I'm sure he feels loss from dad's passing, too.
* He was also a good husband. I'm sure my parents had their fights and arguments and stress, but they didn't let that spill over onto us. Our house always felt safe and loving. Once we kids left the house, my parents didn't fall apart like a lot of couples do when the kids are gone and they don't know each other anymore. They went on dates and to marriage retreats and after we left, they went on weekend adventures exploring Washington together. They were two months away from being married 40 years when he passed away, and still in love. I'm so proud of them and proud to be their kid.
* My mom and dad always encouraged me to take risks and follow what I felt I was supposed to do. Even if it included skipping college to live overseas doing missionary work for years. Even when two years ago I felt like I needed to go on a missions trip to Africa, leaving my family, raising a LOT of money and leaving a not-thrilled (for safety reasons) husband at home. If my dad had told me it wasn't a good idea I probably wouldn't have gone, but he told me that opportunities don't unite with heart-desires for no reason. I'd regret it if I didn't go. And I would have.
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| Dad praying with me before bed |
* My dad was a fixer. "My daddy can fix anything!" I remember saying a lot. Not just stuff, but arranging things, trips, drawing maps for me. My glove compartment was filled with hand-drawn maps from my dad, getting me anywhere I needed to go in Seattle. I just put the destination name at the top and pulled it out when I needed it!
* He was always involved in family stuff. He played games during game night, took us to Mariner's games, came to T-ball games and ballet recitals, AND my best friend in high school, Heather, and I took our dads to prom one year. Honestly, I was nervous, but it was fun. And one of the intimidating girls in my class told me later that she thought it was cool that we did that, and that she didn't think her dad would go if she asked him.
* He was a great Boppa, as his grandkids called him. These four kiddos love him and he loved them. They still talk about the scavenger hunts he would create for them, playing him in Wii boxing, and snuggling with him while they played Barbies, played restaurant or heard a story. When we were young, Robert the Rose Horse was a favorite. He could really work up a good sneeze for that one, throwing the book and jostling us off of his lap. I think that's when I started to love reading to kids - it was so fun to make it come alive.
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| Boppa and the grandkids |
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| Dad reading to me |
Well, I know there are a million more memories and stories. I'm sure I'll remember them in a few hours. But for now, on his birthday, this is a little way to honor him and my mom for being great parents and raising three great kids, and passing on morals and ways to make a child feel loved, wanted and safe. This is one family cycle I don't want to break. I love you, Daddy.
