Daddy

I saw a commercial for Oreos the other day and thought of my dad. Oreos and milk triggers in me a response completely unrelated to food; it evokes a feeling of and longing for simplicity and security, just like "Daddy's lap."

I was reminded of that lap when one of my sons and I were making preparations for his first trip to band camp. At his age, I, too, wanted desperately to go to band camp with my friends. My mother told me we couldn't afford it. When my dad saw how upset I was, he pulled me onto his lap, gave me a big hug, and said of course I could go. I was thrilled; he had "kissed it and made it better." Only later did I understand the sacrifice this represented for my hard-working mother.

As the years passed, my sisters and I realized that our father was a man of empty promises, idle dreams, and little responsibility. But he was still the first one we called to stay with the kids, supervise the fishing trip, bring grandma over for a birthday dinner, and even help clean out the garage.

A poor man, rich in friends and family, but this was not enough for him as he let his life slip away years ago.

I like to remember my dad's strengths, and hope that along with his smelly feet and bumpy nose I have inherited a little of his sense of humor, honesty, friendliness, courtesy, and kindness to others.

I don't think of him all the time anymore, but at odd moments I'll pick up the phone and for a split second expect to hear a familiar "Hello, squirrel", or see him come in the door a little breathless from one of his many "gofers" for my grandparents.

But most of the time his memory is tucked away in a special place, alongside those of porch swings, Captain Kangaroo, and Oreo cookies.

Love you, Daddy.