“Thank God the war came along,” my daddy said as I tucked him into bed.
While no one wants war to be the answer to any difficult situation, I found this comment hysterical, especially coming from a Captain of the Navy who refused to carry a gun.
There are so many things I’ve yet to learn about my dad. I’ve always seen him as a shy, insecure man who was probably terribly awkward around other women in his youth. There was never any mention of girlfriends before my mother. And there was never any flirtatious banter that is common practice between men and women, even if only in jest. In his opinion, that would be deemed inappropriate.
So you can imagine my surprise when I discovered he was a highly sought after stud in his twenties before Lassie, my mother, walked into his heart.
“Dad,” I began. “Did you ever have any girlfriends before you met mom?”
“Oh yes. There was a nurse I was dating when I worked for Standard Oil.”
‘Really?’ I said surprised. My father rarely told stories of his life so this came as a complete shock.
“Yeah,” he continued. “She was a nice lady, but she wanted to get married and I wasn’t going to have anything to do with that.”
“Wow!”
Rubbing his lower lip with his index finger, he sighed heavily and continued, “And there was girl from high school who tracked me down after college. She wanted to get married too. There were lots of girls who wanted to marry me.”
Looking at this crippled soul as he journeyed back in time in his mind, I could see the memory of it all was giving him the willies. Leaning in closer, so as not to miss one minute tale of his so-called horrible saga, I asked, “How did you handle that?”
“I just stopped calling them.”
Now we all know what it’s like to be dumped by a person of interest. One day everything seems fine and the next – they vanish. It’s never fun and it can be extremely hurtful. Knowing what a gentleman my father always was, I was horrified to think he could be cruel.
“Dad! That wasn’t very nice,” I admonished.
“Oh, they both made such pests of themselves.”
“So, you just stopped calling her?”
“Well, fortunately the war came along. I was called to duty so that took care of that.”
And with his impish grin, he said, “I knew they weren't the right girls for me, so I wasn't going to waste anyone's time." Then pulling his blankets to his nose, cradling his rosary to his chest and rocking his head back and forth on the freshly fluffed pillow, he continued, "You know, time is too precious to waste. We don't get it back so we have to make it count."
When people hear I’m caring for my dad, 75% of the time the reaction is one of horror. The mess, the diapers, the invasion of privacy, and the idea of entrapment is beyond their comprehension. But each night, as I kiss him goodnight, I can’t help but think what an incredible gift God has given me. Sure, it’s not easy. In fact, there are days where I crumble into a pile of tears, but in these precious moments, late at night as the world falls asleep, I learn something new – a tidbit from his past, a piece of my heritage, a lesson to be learned, and a treasured memory of a father and daughter sharing their life stories that I will carry in my heart forever. It's moments like these that make life truly worth living.
Filed under Self Discovery by 
“Ok class,” Sister Mary Fidelas announced. “Who wants to read their story first?”
Don, a green eyed thirteen-year-old hunk, immediately raised his hand.
“My hero is my father,” he stated proudly. Dead silence followed.
The room then broke out in snickers and sneers. I sat in disbelief, shocked. Don was one of the really cool kids. A great athlete, straight-A student, and leader in our class.
How could he pick his father? Even as a clueless 7th grader I, the plump nerdling with a pixie haircut and braces, knew all parents were just parents. Nothing special. They were adults who drove us around, fed us, paid the bills, made us go to church and forced us to live good, moral and respectful lives. He had to be kidding.
“Let him read his story,” our wicked witch of the convent screamed.
Don bravely continued, and talked about the many sacrifices his father had made. He’d grown up during the Great Depression and survived World War II. He wanted more for his children than he’d grown up with. Back in those “olden days,” Don said, “having fun was not the focus of life like it is today. Being happy meant you had a job so your family could eat.”
“My dad’s not a superstar. He’s not a billionaire, but he’s my hero because I know he’s always there for me.”
Suddenly, my eyes began to burn and I forcefully held back the tears. It was if Don was talking about my own father. Shame and guilt ran through my veins like ice water; I’d failed to recognize all that my own father had done for me.
The epiphany that transpired that day stayed with me for the next 45 years. Like a fly on the wall, I’ve since studied his every move, soaking in the wonder of the man I call Dad.
I’ve giggled as he stumbled with his only daughter on the dance floor. More like Fred Flinstone than Fred Astaire, he endured the excruciating torture with his two left feet because he knew how much it meant to me to be at a Father Daughter dance with him.
With limited funds, he educated his four children and set them on the path to become productive members of society. The Golden Rule was the standard by which we were taught to live our lives.
I’ve admired his unwavering faith even in his darkest moments of despair. When a stroke stripped him of his left side twenty-seven years ago, he accepted it with bravery and grace. With his tenacity and determination, he went on to reclaim his mobility. A feat originally deemed by his doctors as an “Impossible Dream.”
Webster defines a hero as “one with exceptional courage, dignity and strength.” At ninety-five, my beloved father is trapped in a body that has completely abandoned him. He spends his days confined to a wheelchair, eyesight dim, hearing faint and yet is still happy to be alive. He keeps his mind alert, sharp and can still talk sports or politics with the best of them, plus manages his financial affairs to the last dime – something I have yet to conquer.
While I may drool over gorgeous actors dressed like superheroes in the movies, a real man, a stud among studs, would have to be my dad. This Father’s Day, I plan to spoil him rotten and let him know how significantly he’s shaped my life these 58 years. I’ll never be as honest, decent or honorable as him, but just having him in my life has given me the courage to try.
Filed under Holidays, Inspirational Stories by
“How is your dinner?” I asked my dad, as I spooned another forkful into his mouth. Chewing madly to get ready for the next bite, he simply nodded his head up and down.
Since my daddy moved in with me, there seems to be less and less he can do for himself. Bodily functions and clean-ups are left in the hands of the one woman who loves him most – his only daughter. His eyes have become so weak that he can no longer see his food to feed himself or to change the channels on the TV. And reading, once his biggest passion, is non-existent. Walking ended years ago and in order to hear, all volume, both in human voice and electronic pitch, is at its highest level.
Sitting by his side, carefully giving him just the right amount of food so he wouldn’t choke, I noticed his “nods” became more pronounced. He nodded for more food, nodded to let me know it tasted good, nodded when it was time to stop. It’s in these precious moments that I’m swiftly carried back in time to my childhood when the nod was his main source of communicating.
In my youth, my mother did all the talking. She was the storyteller, task master, disciplinarian, and a demonstrative creature that let us know every second of every day we were loved, both by her actions and her words. My dad was the strong, silent type.
There was never any question that he loved us, but he never became all ooey-gooey like my mom. A gentle kiss good night and the simple phrase, “I love you,” was the extent of the verbal communication, but that simple movement of his head said it all for me.
The dinner table nod said, “Great, you ate all your dinner.” The report card nod sang loud and clear, “Good job, honey!” The athletic nod, when I tagged player after player at home base, screamed louder than any other parent, “That’s my girl.” And, the tearful nod as I placed another new grandchild in his arms whispered, “My legacy will live on. Thank you, sweetie.”
Today, my daddy’s more vocal with his emotions. At night, in between his dinner nods, we talk about his life. What he is grateful for, what he is fearful of. He tells me over and over that he loves and adores me, but when emotions rise and the tears begin to bubble; he reverts back to his old ways and slowly lowers and lifts his head. This gentle language between a father and daughter needs no words.
"I love you too, dad."
Filed under Inspirational Stories by
Now that I’ve gotten the diaper thing somewhat down, having my daddy here is not as big an issue as I thought it might be. Mainly because he sleeps nearly twenty hours a day. But in those rare moments that he’s awake, we have some amazing talks.
Years ago, just after my mother passed away, we were having a conversation about dating. The fact that no one in my family had a significant other, including me. To this my father immediately stated, “Oh, you’re done. You don’t get a second chance.”
Shocked (and fearful he might have been right), I blurted, “Dad, how can you say that? I’m only 50 years old.”
Pausing for a moment before he answered, he calmly said, “You only get on chance to do it. It wasn’t your fault. You tried to keep the marriage together, but you need to figure your life out without a man.”
Being the staunch Catholic he is, I knew where this was coming from. You marry once and for life. But as the years have unfolded, he has seen how lonely it can be without a loving partner – both for him and for me.
Last night, while feeding him his dinner, we got on the subject once again.
“Is it hard for you, honey?”
Since this was always such a closed discussion, I was surprised he was bringing it up.
“It’s difficult sometimes, dad,” I answered. “All my friends are married. I don’t feel like I fit in anywhere.”
Chewing another spoonful of rice, he stopped and said, “You need to be careful. There are a lot of rotten men out there.”
"How right you are," I thought to myself. Dating after marriage is a complicated process. So many people have baggage the size of a steamer trunks that they can’t let go of. Anger and bitterness are two of the heavy items that weigh their lives down.
“Don’t worry, dad. I am.”
He then went on to tell me what men were like, how they can take advantage of a woman, and what to be looking for. I found this advice sweet because even though he still holds on to the concept you marry only once, he could see the emptiness in my life at times.
As a child, my father rarely talked to me, but he always taught me by his living example. The biggest lesson: I had to learn to love myself and the life God gave my – by myself. That tutorial has been invaluable. He also taught me to never settle.
Who knows where my road of life will take me. I know I’d prefer to not do it alone, but if that’s the path I’ve been put on then, like my dad, I will accept it and make the best of the years ahead. His words have always taught me lessons, but his acceptance to the way things are has brought me tremendous comfort. If I can trust that God has me exactly where I’m supposed to be, then all will be right in my world.
Filed under Dating, Self Esteem by
