Many of us have mixed feelings about one or both parents, and for some reason that seems to resonate more with me on Father’s Day. I’m the oldest child, and that gave me the privilege of having time alone with my parents when I was little. This turned out to be especially valuable even after my sister was born, because I still got time alone with my dad while he entertained me and mom was home with the baby. I was a real daddy’s girl—my dad could do no wrong. My mom later said, “You always doted on him.” I think she said it in an eye-rolling kind of way. In those days my dad took me to the demolition derby, fishing in the creek, and walking in the hills behind our house. He scolded me when I intentionally stepped on a ladybug. We often went from our home in Pennsylvania to visit his parents in upstate New York, which I loved. We would go fishing in the creek or try to catch the big catfish that lived under the bridge on their gravel road. Seems like we have always spent a lot of time together in the car. After my parents divorce, my mom moved us 150 miles away to the shelter of her parents, so we had to go back and forth to see dad. One summer he took us on us on a month-long camping trip out west, it was one of the trips of a lifetime. He bought a trailer (not a pop-up but a real hard-sided camper) with shower and kitchen, and we drove all the way to the west coast and back. It was a trip filled with lots of driving (and I was only 14 so couldn’t help), and photography. Know what happens when you take 2 kids on vacation and give them each a camera? You get lots and lots of pictures of all the same things. I still have those pictures and the trip was 1978. The colors have faded a lot, but the memories I hope to always have. We fed peanuts to birds in the Rocky Mountains, where there was snow on the ground and we were wearing shorts. My sister toured the grand canyon on horseback. The heat didn’t work in the camper so we warmed our feet on cold mountain mornings by turning on the oven and resting our feet on the open oven door (don’t try this at home). My dad grew a beard (mostly reddish with some gray), and I guess we went to Laundromats but I don’t really remember that part.
Once when I was maybe 5 years old, I almost drowned. We were visiting my mom’s family near Lake Michigan, and my dad and I had ended up at a public beach. We hadn’t brought swim gear but he let me splash in the surf a little since it was hot. I kept going farther and farther out, and I didn’t know how to swim, and soon the waves picked me up and I couldn’t touch bottom. I could see boats farther out, but couldn’t turn around to try to flag my dad down for help. I was swallowing water and thought I would be carried away. My dad suddenly came charging into the water and pulled me out, realizing I couldn’t help myself. I could and spit and sputtered until I could catch my breath on the sand.
My dad built me a dresser and bed frame out of wood, and it’s really beautiful. He also made me a jewelry box—he’s very handy and could probably build a house from the ground up with his bare hands and some tools. He fixed up a ’67 camaro for me when I was in high school, which made me the envy of many of the boys. I do get mesmerized whenever I see a muscle car, new or old, in traffic, probably thanks to my dad. He taught me how to catch nightcrawlers during a rainstorm, how to check the oil and tire pressure and trans fluid levels on a car, and how to tie my shoes. And he practiced counting change with me a lot. It’s because of him that I love nature and the outdoors, and anything made of wood, and things made of glass (he’s a ceramic engineer).
As an engineer, my dad worked mostly in factories in small towns. Factories that were noisy, hot, cold, and probably not the cleanest. As a manager, he at times had to cross picket lines of angry workers in order to do their jobs to try to keep the business afloat. He helped me a lot financially to get through college, which was very important to him and to me because I had a child long before I finished college. One day as I drove to work, I came around the bend and saw the big, beautifully landscaped complex, and I was struck by how his work in those noisy, hot, cold, and dangerous factories, and his provision for me, gave me the tools to work in a place that is clean, safe, and beautiful, where I make more money than he would have ever imagined. I was in my 30’s, and I called him that day to thank him and to let him know that his desire for his daughter to have something better had indeed been fulfilled. I wanted him to know I appreciated it and had been a good steward of what he too had worked for.
My dad is in his 70s now, and is pretty healthy except for that little bit of prostate cancer. In my mind and in my heart though, he is still a lanky 30 year old with dark hair, running across the back yard playing kickball, 2 against 1, with me and my sister.
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