Driving to the cottage on Friday, I was listening to CBC radio.  In honour of Father’s day, they were asking people to call in their responses to – ‘Tell us about the moment that you realized that you had become your Dad’.  I laughed, thinking about the numerous times that I have tripped over my own feet, dropped something, hit my head and fallen going up or down the stairs.

Embrace your inner klutz…

My dad was a walking accident waiting to happen~ and so it would seem am I!  My dad had no hair on his legs from the knees down. We used to tease him that his shins were covered in scar tissue!  I remember walking into my dad’s house one weekend to find him on his hands and knees on their cream coloured, carpeted, staircase.  He was scrubbing frantically with a brush, pail of soapy water beside him.  The carpet and wall were splattered with red. It looked like a crime scene! He had fallen walking up the stairs!  Unfortunately he was carrying a tray with two full bowls of tomato soup. My dad broke the same leg twice.  His head was always nicked and scabbed from banging it into stuff.  That was my dad…bumped; scraped; bruised but usually smiling.  My dad taught me to embrace my inner klutz.  A trait I have tried to pass along to Jesse, since that particular gene has also been lovingly passed to him.  Not only did my dad embrace his clumsiness, he was able to laugh at himself along the way.

Work Hard…

My Dad worked hard his whole life, sometimes working two and three jobs and often volunteering too.  I remember when we were small, he would work his factory job and also work evenings in a local gas station, pumping gas.  On evenings and weekends when he was off, he would sometimes be at the ball diamond, coaching softball. For years, my dad was also president of the housing cooperative that we both lived in.  He and my stepmother spent countless hours working so that people had a nice place to live that was also affordable.  It was often a stressful and thankless job.  My dad had a strong work ethic.  He taught us, through his example, that a “job worth doing is worth doing right”.

Tend your garden…

Later in his life, my dad was an avid gardener.  He loved his little koi pond and he loved his lilies.  His garden was always filled with dozens of lilies all different colours and varieties. He seemed at peace with his hands in the soil, his knobby knees black from kneeling to pull weeds. He would be very unhappy to see the state of my current ‘garden’- untended and full of dandelions.  I wish he were here to help me!  There have been so many times since his death that I have missed him terribly.  Last year, after a really hard day, I cried on my drive out to the cottage. I was craving a hug from him and feeling like I was likely a disappointment to him (long story).  When I walked down the path to the back door of the cottage, something colourful caught my eye.  Three bright yellow lilies greeted me. They were blooming for the first time that year! A sign from him?  I choose to believe so.

Say I love you…

My Dad taught me this lesson the hard way.  During his absences in my life, I longed to hear him tell me he loved me.  At times I didn’t feel loved. This created in me a need, almost obsessive, to make sure that the people I care about, know it.  This sometimes makes people uncomfortable!  It has at times, warranted an eye roll or two from my kids, especially when they were teens and their friends were around! Maybe, if they read this, they will understand.  I always wonder…if I am not here tomorrow, will they know?

Later in our relationship, my dad said he loved me often and in many different ways~ a warm bear hug; trudging down our street during a blizzard through four feet of snow to help us when our furnace broke down; dressing up as Santa for Jaymi and Jesse; and another time dressing up as a giant furry chipmunk, in august, to surprise the kids at their birthday party.

My dad’s life wasn’t easy. For most of my adult life I was worried about the stress he was under.  I can only think of one or two times that I ever heard my dad complain.  He smiled through most of his troubles ~ two broken legs, heart problems, a difficult marriage.  I have a picture of my dad, taken in his family room. It is one of my favourite pictures of him.  He is slouched sideways in his chair.  His body language tells me that he was exhausted; mentally and physically.  His brow is creased, his head resting in his hand, but when I look in those soft brown eyes, this is a twinkle there.  His mouth is tilted in a tired half grin. That was my dad ~ full of contradictions: happy, but at the same time sad; tired but always working; bruised and battered but strong; loving but at times absent.

Happy Father’s Day, Dad.  I will always love you.