Dad

Photo from: sjengraving's shop

My earliest memories of my dad are of him singing to me. He'd sing me songs about being a soldier ("...in an hour I must go, where all the brave men go to fight") as I was going to sleep, imitate Louis Armstrong in "What a Wonderful World" (and a darn good job he did, too) and in the final minutes before my eyes closed for the night there would be a verse or two from Jimmy Buffet's "Little Miss Magic" which always left me wondering if I really was going to learn how to fly.

In the mornings I would wake up before the sun would rise just in time for my dad to hand over the control to the cream and sugar for his coffee. I would carefully measure it out, stir it in, then wait and watch with four year old anticipation as he took a sip. If I got the "A-OK!" hand signal I felt as if I ruled the world. There was never a morning I didn't feel as though I ruled the world for as long as I mixed my dad's morning coffee.

The word I find myself using to describe my dad is... jolly. Like Santa, except with more wit. And a lot less girth around the waistline. ;) He's always made me feel this way though I don't think he knows it. He keeps a persistent twinkle in his eye that shows he's happy as a clam to have you around and concurrently planning a mischievous trick to play on you. His smile makes you feel like a millionaire the minute you meet him. Strangers dissolve instantly into friends and if you get one of his hugs, it'll be a hard one to top. You just feel all around good when you're hanging out with my dad... his constant cheerfulness is contagious.

My dad's door is always open. Any friend of mine felt as if my dad's home was also their own. In fact, most of my friends felt as if my dad, himself, was also their own, too. No stiff invitations were ever needed to join at the table (which usually turned more into laughing sessions than mealtime), no one needed to ask if it was okay to join on a boat ride, everyone piled into dad's "Ol' Blue" when going for a ride. And dad always greets my friends with a huge smile and hug to match as if seeing them was the highlight of the year for him, even if he just saw them the day before.

When we were kids, he built our house... with his own two hands. I remember him working on sawhorses outside and him letting me hold the board still on the far end while he made cuts with the hand saw. I remember the smell of sawdust being associated with my dad and going out while he was working just to watch him and to play in the shavings from the wood. The end result of his handiwork was a beautiful home on the river with palm trees swaying in the back and a tire swing hanging in the yard from a big old oak tree. Oh, and a wishing well my brother and I really thought was magic.

Even with all the work he did, he never minded when my brother and his best friend dug up the yard to find buried treasure or carried out other wildly imaginative projects. In fact, he kept the tools in a handy spot that allowed them easy access to shovels, hammers and all kinds of things boys like. I have to admit, growing up with nearly all boys in the neighborhood, I also was intrigued by treasure hunts and underground forts that my brother built. My dad would come out to inspect our handiwork and made it seem as though it were legitimate business that we were about. Dad understood that fending off ninjas and finding treasure was hard work.

My dad folds shirts, makes the bed, lights the Christmas tree and wraps presents with noticeable perfection. Anyone who has seen my father's shirt drawer comments on it. Anyone who receives a present from him unwraps it reverently. The Christmas tree lights glow from the inside out, with just the right amount of light to dark areas. And the ultimate test of my dad's bed being made is bouncing a coin off the sheets. He also grills Thanksgiving turkeys that taste better than any roasted turkey you've eaten in your life. He cracks jokes in Julia Child's voice as he creates kitchen masterpieces. He prays as if God were his very best friend, sitting right beside him. He's brilliant about important world issues and politics and can reason his way through any tough problem. He gives his daughter advice that doesn't feel like a lecture. He draws smiley faces that really do make you smile - every time. My dad is, in short, the best dad in the world. Hands-down, no contest, no call-backs. It's just the way it is.

Happy Birthday, Dad.

I love you =)