Daddy's Girl
My dad turns 65 today. Since my parents are the non-techie sort -- they don't own an answering machine or an ATM card -- you can bet that he'll never see this post. Interestingly, my dad shares this day with my mother's elder sister. Yhe one who tried to teach me to knit -- twice. When I finally taught myself, she was the one I called to talk me through my first cable.
My dad is a very amusing man. Part of the amusement (and I don't mean this in a cruel way) is that he has almost zero hearing in one ear. During my college years, I would shout at him, but he wouldn't hear me -- so engrossed in either The Weather Channel or The Wall Street Journal was he. The amusing part? My mother and I would be whispering family gossip in the kitchen, and my father would yell from the living room, "What? Waddya say? What's going on with Joan?". I think his hearing loss was somewhat like a dog's hearing -- certain pitches drop out and others are magnified. It gave a whole new meaning to Whisper to a Scream.
I have two outstanding memories of my father -- there are more, but these are the two that can be shared without much back story:
1) Having helped my mother by setting the dinner table, I would curl up next to my dad on the couch, watching The Flinstones. It was an evening ritual of my youth.
2) One day at college the phone rang. It was my as at the store. Shocked, I asked, "Oh, so...why did you call?". His answer? "Just to talk to you.". It was the first time I remember him saying I love you first -- not just as a response.
My dad is a man who lived in Japan, served four years in the Marine Corps, and nursed a sickly fig tree through the long winter in Pittsburgh; but, somehow, lacked the ability to figure out how to fold a Glad Sandwhich Bag on his own.
Happy Birthday, Dad!
My dad is a very amusing man. Part of the amusement (and I don't mean this in a cruel way) is that he has almost zero hearing in one ear. During my college years, I would shout at him, but he wouldn't hear me -- so engrossed in either The Weather Channel or The Wall Street Journal was he. The amusing part? My mother and I would be whispering family gossip in the kitchen, and my father would yell from the living room, "What? Waddya say? What's going on with Joan?". I think his hearing loss was somewhat like a dog's hearing -- certain pitches drop out and others are magnified. It gave a whole new meaning to Whisper to a Scream.
I have two outstanding memories of my father -- there are more, but these are the two that can be shared without much back story:
1) Having helped my mother by setting the dinner table, I would curl up next to my dad on the couch, watching The Flinstones. It was an evening ritual of my youth.
2) One day at college the phone rang. It was my as at the store. Shocked, I asked, "Oh, so...why did you call?". His answer? "Just to talk to you.". It was the first time I remember him saying I love you first -- not just as a response.
My dad is a man who lived in Japan, served four years in the Marine Corps, and nursed a sickly fig tree through the long winter in Pittsburgh; but, somehow, lacked the ability to figure out how to fold a Glad Sandwhich Bag on his own.
Happy Birthday, Dad!
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