Memories...with my dad

Happy 70th!

Sitting around the dinner table, a quarter of the way through, we'd catch his image through the kitchen window- Daddy was home! We'd cheer and Mom would greet him with her lips pronounced saying, "Give me a kiss honey!" In a rambunctious, funny, nasally voice.  It was football season. Dad left the house early and arrived home late into the evening while carrying out his match made in heaven job, being the Head Athletic Trainer for Boise State University.

When I think back to those years and envision my Dad I'm reminded of soggy Cobby's sandwiches and Big Red gum. Cobby's, supplied the players with their sandwiches extraordinaire after every game. Dad would bring home the leftovers or, if we were lucky, when attending a game we would lounge out in his office afterward, feeling like royalty, and bite into a fresh, soggy-free, feast of our own. We'd ravage through his desk usually finding the two big guarantees: Big Red gum and Snickers bars. Pure treasures.

Often times our Sunday evening activity would involve picking up Dad from the airport after an away game. We'd scan through all the people, waiting to recognize his face among the seemingly endless line of people exiting the aircraft. And there he'd be! We'd run toward him with a big hug ready and in our minds be dreaming about the possible delights he had carefully chosen out for us from his travels.

On the weekends Dad was home we could find him lying on the front room floor after church. He'd play around with the dog or just lay on his back, chatting with us, while his arms were outstretched – moving them from the ground to stretching high above his head, touching his pointer fingers together when his hands were close enough. Sometimes we'd jump on him and try to wrestle... he'd play for a bit and then trap us with his legs - once you were trapped there was no getting out so we'd lay there like a dead fish until he was certain we understood who the true victor was. :)

Dad was the big softy parent. If there were concerns about his children he'd express them to our mother and encourage her to follow through (stinker :)... but he usually only appeared to us as our pal. Our friend. Someone we could relate to. He treated all of us as if we were his favorite and showered us with surprises. I remember one St. Patrick's Day, when I was the only child left at home, he went shopping and bought me a forest green V-necked sweater in honor of the holiday. The sweater was cute but even cuter was the time and effort he put into purchasing the perfect piece of attire for his 17 yr old daughter.

Dad was our protector; yelling at a few deserving boyfriends now and then or comforting one of his little girls when their heart had been broken. When I was a confused, mentally handicapped teenager I ran away from home. Not because my life was bad but because a lot of my friends were doing it and for some reason it didn't seem like that big of deal. (Remember my brain was not fully developed... logic was lacking). About a week after I had returned home I decided to skip school with my friends. The school notified my parents for obvious reasons. My friends and I were hanging out at a house not too far from mine when my Dad showed up. He was relieved to see me, afraid that I had possibly run away again. The thing that I'll remember most from that day was his grip on my arm while leading me home. It wasn't too firm or hurtful but a grip that spoke to me, as if saying - I love you and I am never going to let you go. Please be safe. Please make good decisions. Your mother and I love you desperately. It was a Father's grip, a grip desperately trying to protect his baby girl from the world. It worked. I’ll never forget that grip.

When I was growing up Dad was always a good home teacher. He had a gift for lifting up those in need; giving them the time and attention they so desired. This enabled him to have an odd collection of unique friends. Friends who were invited to almost every holiday and many Sunday dinners. Everybody needs a friend. Dad was theirs. One day I discovered an acquaintance of mine was also a friend of my dad’s. He described my dad perfectly, "That Gary - he's just one of the good guys". One of the good guys. Ah yes, a more brilliant description has almost never been heard.

You want my dad in your corner. You'll win. When I was in labor with my first son I guess the epidural allowed me to feel comfortable enough inviting everyone and their dog into the room. It was a long grueling process and I told my Dad that when it came time to push he had to look the other way and stay in the corner (the literal corner). My dad is the most modest man alive and concurred with my sentiments eagerly. When it was finally time to deliver my sweet baby all the women in the room were buzzing around trying to be helpful. I pushed and pushed but the baby wouldn't come. I glanced at my dad in the corner. He looked miserable. Helpless. He's a get the job done kind of guy - a leader - let's accomplish something. And there he was, banished to the corner, feeling and looking powerless while listening to me struggle. I needed my Dad. He needed a responsibility. So, I called out his name to come and hold one of my legs while I tried my hardest to deliver his grandson. A little while later Carson was born. My Dad takes care of his girls. He took care of me that day. His presence was a comfort.

I love you Dad. Thank you for your example, for being fun, for your crinkly eyelids and eyes that twinkle when you're up to good and maybe no good. Thanks for taking the time to teach the many boy-outdoorsy -sports - stuff to your house filled with daughters. Thanks for the many games of HORSE and even trying your best to teach us how to golf. Thanks for being our mom's sweetheart for eternity, dancing with her around the house and then taking a turn to twirl with us. No girl could ask for a better Daddy.

I love you tremendously,

Your youngest and rottenest :)