D.A.D

When I was young, my dad used to take us to our school’s playground. A typical fatherly thing to do; however, he was anything but typical. Sometimes he would take us on his motorcycle, sometimes on our sail-trike. Sometimes he would take us in his doorless jeep, sometimes on his skateboard. Yes, I said sail-trike. He built it himself, and we could fit 5-7 neighbor kids on it to go cruising down the streets of Millville.

When we got to the playground, he would entertain us by walking across the uneven bars on his hands, juggling while riding his skateboard, or maybe just riding the skateboard on his hands. He was an acrobat, and I was fairly convinced that he could do anything in the world.

My dad also built our house, as well as a ginormous multi-level playhut (replete with swings, rings, ropes, hanging bars, a tire swing, and an ultra awesome attic), and a basketball court.

We regularly slept out on our trampoline under the stars, where he would point out constellations and tell us stories until we fell asleep. He took us on so many camping trips, hikes, picnics, bikerides, and skiing escapades that it would be impossible to list them all. My dad loves having fun, and made every outing – even to the gas station – an adventure.  He has had many hobbies over the years, including sailing and (eeeek) hang gliding off cliffs.  (The following shot was taken when he was about to land.)

But he isn’t all play. My dad has worked hard his entire life. When I was little, he was a pilot in the Air Force.

When his service was over, he got a job working an hour away from our home. For almost as long as I can remember, my dad got up every morning at 5:00 to leave with his carpool. He returned in the evening, and rarely breathed a word about his job to anybody. He said so little about it that we joked that he was in the CIA. My dad was a talented designer for Thiokol, but one day when I was in my twenties he told me that he didn’t particularly love his job – it was rather dull compared to his days of being a pilot. But he dutifully went to work before the sun came up every morning for decades in order to support his family. He was recently forced to retire early due to lack of government funding for the space program. There was no party, no notice.

But his hard work was not unnoticed. He provided for our family - food, clothes, birthday parties, cars, car insurance, braces, piano lessons, school trips, vacations, sports fees, weddings, the American dream. More importantly, he taught us to be utterly responsible, to put in an honest day’s work, and to put family first in life. I couldn’t be prouder of him.

(Note:  this picture will be the subject of my next blog post.  I’m pretty fond of it.)

In addition to being ridiculously talented, my dad is the kindest person I have ever known. He is always involved in some kind of project, and often for a friend, neighbor, or family member. He helped build a house especially for a woman in our church who had recently become paralyzed in an accident. He built wheelchair ramps for my grandfather, neighbor, and brother when they no longer could walk. He built an adult-sized tricycle for my friend with cerebral palsy so that she could go on bike rides with us.

Of all my dad’s great qualities, the one that I love most is that he was born to be a father and grandfather. He is a notorious baby charmer who loves children and is incredibly patient – letting babies touching leaves, throw rocks in a river, feed ducks, run their fingers through sand, climb stairs, or steal his hat for hours.

I credit my dad for instilling a healthy sense of self-worth in me. He has told me from the time I was pint-sized that I’m beautiful (way more than the models and movie starts on TV), and there hasn’t ever been a day in my life that I questioned whether he loved me.  He taught me how to fix a flat tire, change the oil in my car, lay sod, balance on wet rocks to cross a river, paint a room, shingle a roof, lay tile, ride down rocky terrain on a bike, do algebra, and play an F chord on my guitar.

He is perfect, and I adore him in case you can’t tell.

P.S.  Happy birthday, DAD!  I love you!