Saturday, June 14, 2008
Happy Father's Day, Dad. Happy Birthday, Princess.Today is Father's Day, but it's also my daughter's birthday. She's over 21, if anyone wants to ask me any questions.
She used to be the most beautiful baby girl in the universe, but not any more. She hasn't been that for a long time.
She is, however, the most beautiful young woman in the universe. She's strong and brave and smart and hilarious. Her sense of direction is almost perfect. Her sense of ethics and behavior are superior. She can sing like an angel. She can walk into an expensive dress shop and walk out with a $300.00 dress that she got for twelve bucks and matching $125.00 shoes that cost eight. Um, the honest way. She's kind and caring and patient, unless she's dealing with an idiot in which case she, sadly, takes after me. She's the best daughter any mother could ever hope to have, even when she takes the occasional pissy fit, and even then a good margarita will fix that mood swing right up. Mommy knows how to take care of her baby girl.
I didn't teach her to stick her head in a waterfall, but only because the subject never came up.
Happy Birthday, Princess.
My dad has been gone for several years now, but we never really ever stop missing the people we love. We recover, and get on with our lives, but the memories are still there, and aren't we all glad they are?
Dad wasn't perfect, not by a long shot. He and all of his brothers and their father before them were quick-tempered and easy to, as Mom used to say, "set off." He was also funny and smart; he could sing and he valued education, HIGHLY. He would have been a success at college, but he never went. Instead, he sent four kids through college, and continued to work day after day in a factory, "so we would never have to."
My Other Sister and I had a daddy who was playful and laughing. My two younger siblings had a daddy who was cranky and yelling. Dad's illness began long before anybody realized it, including himself, and the personality changes were just brushed aside as part of the aging process or, possibly, his true colors. Nobody actually said "true colors," but we all thought it.
By the time dad had had both legs amputated and was bedridden and too weak to feed himself or turn over, we all realized that the diabetes had begun to affect his mind long before it took his body.
He stayed at home and Mom took care of him. I don't think she went anywhere for three or four years, except her runs to the grocery and drugstores while Dad was at dialysis.
My father is gone, but he still lives in my head, daily. And to that loving and playful and laughing and singing father, I want to say, "Happy Father's Day, Daddy."
I knew all along that mean yelling daddy wasn't really you.
So, today, June 15, I salute my beautiful baby daughter AND the daddy I loved.
Mamacita, Scheiss Weekly
Posted by Mamacita (The REAL one) @ 11:55 PM | |