Once upon a time, I fell in love with my father. Each year, the love grew, especially after I found out he chose me.
I wasn’t a surprise or mistake, nor was I dropped into his waiting arms at birth.
I was two years old when he fell in love with my mother, a young widow. My birth father had died early in my infancy.
Dad might have become my step-father… he certainly wouldn’t have been faulted for that! Instead, he adopted me. He was never, ever anything BUT my real dad.
(By the way, I would be remiss not to thank my birth father for my life. That should possibly go without saying but today, Father’s Day, I feel it needs to be said.)
What also needs to be said is that the man who raised me – and to be honest, it wasn’t easy! – and loved me through it all is my dad.
My dad is also the person who loved watching basketball (Yay, Raptors!) and I remember iced water and popcorn in the den watching the Lakers on our black & white TV with my sister and our dad… the sound of athletic shoes on wood always reminds me of him. 🙂
My dad loved cars, especially his Mercedes – a burgundy 60s model 320S, if I remember correctly – with leather and wood inside (oh, that car smelled so good!) and a 3-speed column shift. He kept that car for 30 years! I even got to drive it once. Boy, was I scared!
My dad rode bikes with us, played tennis with us, went to the swim park and beach with us, walked the dogs with us and took us to baseball games in the park when Mom was at school.
He told dumb “Dad jokes” and some of them were even funny! This is not to say he wasn’t legit hilarious. He was! He introduced me to Monty Python and Benny Hill (boo, hiss!). We watched Leslie Nielson in Police Squad and laughed our heads off. He was the guy in plaid polyester in the 70’s and hair that grew just over his collar… which upset my grandfather to pieces. Ha!
He is there in every memory – including becoming the muse and peacemaker in the angst-y teen years of the relationship between my mom and me.
Most important of ALL, I was never, ever, treated differently than my sister.
He was my hero.
These days, Dad likes watching golf… lots and lots of golf. just ask my Mom! Ha! His Mercedes is long-gone along with his desire to ride a bike or play a game of tennis.
When I look in his eyes, I see the love I’ve always seen. And the guy who jumped into the waves at the beach.
And one last thing… take a look at this photo and tell me I don’t look like my dad’s daughter. Everyone says I’m a perfect amalgamation of my parents. I agree. And that’s a very good thing!