|
|
Friday, May 12, 2006
|
|
| |
the apple does not fall far.
Tomorrow, my dad turns sixty.
My mom turned fifty-six about ten days ago.
Obviously, no one told them it would be useful to space out the birthdays.
It's always been that way, though, so I'm used to it.
After yesterday, it seems funny to be writing an entry about my dad. I'm not quite sure why; nothing changed between us or about us when I received my news. I suppose it just seems awfully ironic to celebrate parenthood when that is the one thing my body denies me.
It hurts more today than it did yesterday, to be honest -- something like the injuries after a car accident. Except that I don't feel stiff or sore. I just feel awfully weak.
But you know what's keeping me strong?
The people who love me.
One of them is my dad.
See, of all the people on earth who are related to me, it could be said that my dad and I, we're the most alike.
I used to look much more like him when I was a little girl, all dark hair and dark eyes and rosy cheeks and angles. Time blended me into a combination of my parents, though, so now the resemblance isn't as clear anymore.
But we share so much more than just a short list of physical characteristics.
We share the same love for writing. The same love for political debate. The same turn of phrase. The same bizarre and ironic sense of humour. The same typing speed. The same conviction about our ideas. The same love for hours and hours of televised sports. The same temper. The same logic. The same passion for pretty things that cost too much. The same shyness that no one really understands.
The same fierce, unabashed love for the people we cherish in our lives.
It's a love that can make us absolute pains in the ass. A love that makes us comfortable to show our warts.
It's true love, though. Without a doubt.
My father is a minister. If you read this blog very often, you know this. But he is not the minister with whom you grew up, no sir (although he is the minister with whom I grew up, but I digress.)
He is, if I may say so, far more... everything.
He is a former studio musician, a one-time tailor, an incredibly gifted speaker and teacher, a jazz afficionado, a man of impeccable style and bargain-fu, a literature buff, a lifelong jock, a much-loved police chaplain who donned the uniform and walked the beat to get to know "the guys", a photographer, a writer, a lover of the arts, and -- this is the best thing by far -- the person who laughs the loudest when his daughter swears.
He is also the one who indulged me with the most fervor growing up. Now, my mom would give me the earth on a string if she could, but my dad? He'd give it to me on a J.Crew string, and tape five pairs of Havaianas to it -- even when he all he had was a penny and a half to rub together.
Perhaps we were co-enablers in our impracticalities. Perhaps we drove my mother bananas. Maybe there is no perhaps about it.
But we looked good doing it, dammit.
None of that is important, though.
Here is what is important:
I have not lived a single day on this earth where I doubted that my father loved me more than he loves himself. It has always been abundantly clear that he would move heaven and earth to keep me safe.
He has faith in every aspect of who I am. He trusts my judgment. He respects my mind. He believes I am beautiful. He encourages me to fulfill my potential and my dreams.
Then his heart breaks into a thousand pieces if I am hurting, just like every pore of his being sings when I am happy.
When I am married one day, I hope to have a husband as faithful and honest and true. As I walk through my faith, I pray to possess even a small measure of his grace and wisdom.
And when I shop at Goodwill, I hope that I too will begin to find $10 Ralph Lauren suits in perfect condition.
The man has a gift, after all.
Daddy, I can't begin to tell you how you've inspired me to do the hardest things and the best things in my life -- even things I'd felt were far beyond my reach. You never let me feel stupid when I failed. Love was never ever connected with success or conditionality.
I know you've been through some difficult stuff in the past few years, but you've stayed incredibly strong and committed to your calling through it all. Your resilience, compassion, integrity and humility have provided me with the template I've needed to become a better person with each passing year.
Simply put, the way that you see me gives me wings.
As does this email you sent last night:
"I love you and am extremely proud of you beyond all
measurement. I know that someday you will be a mother, and it does not matter
to me if your children (my grandchildren) come by birth from you, by adoption
or by kidnapping, they will be the most fortunate children in the world to have
you for their mom (and they will have at least one really incredible grandmother
as well)."
I love you, Dad.
I'm proud to be even a little bit like you.
3:07:51 AM 
|
|
|
 |
© Copyright
2006
Meg Fowler.
Last update:
6/1/06; 11:12:28 PM. |
|
|
