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Browsing Tag: fathers

For Father’s Day

Today’s post is brought to you by Saoirse and Quinn, in honor of David. Me:  Girls, what do you want the world to know about Daddy? SK:  Love. Quinn:  Me, too! SK:  I love him because I do. Quinn:  I love him much…What “much” means? SK, in answer:  “I have so many.” SK, continued:  I like him when he lets me see the race and the trains on his iPad. Me:  Quinn, what do you like about Daddy? Quinn:  Love. SK:  I like Daddy when he lets me drive Dinoco.* *Note: That’s the name she gave David’s car, and she means ride. Honest. Me:  Quinn, anything else? Quinn:  Love! SK:  I like him when he lets me work in the garden. Quinn:  Me, too? Me:  And Quinn, anything else you like about Daddy? Quinn:  S-A-O-I-R-S… Me:  Anything else? Quinn:  Love! I couldn’t have said it better myself…

Five Years

You know what I miss about my dad? Here’s a short list: He loved Japanese food. He loved Vietnamese food. He loved a good steak and potatoes. Um. He loved food. He’d randomly speak Japanese. He’d seen more of the US and Asia than I ever will. He read so quickly that he’d no sooner open a book than finish it. He loved ABBA. And Celine Dion. And Crystal Gayle. And the Vogues. So much to make fun of, and we did. (Except for the Vogues. They were allowed.) Wait, there’s more: He cried when he saw Les Mis on Broadway. He insisted that well water was better tasting than anything that could come out of public taps. He made our lunches during our school years and packed notes into them with puzzles and riddles and messages with an eyeball and a heart and a letter U to tell us he loved us. He offered to “drive down there” when I drove home from college in tears after a boyfriend broke my heart. He hated the Beatles. Thought they were a bunch of noise. He always wanted to…

Four Years

We went to Arlington cemetery to visit someone I love dearly.  He resides there, now, right next to the visitor’s center, which he would have loved, considering how he would talk to complete strangers like they were old buddies. We only stop by a couple times a year, though. It’s hard to see it, this place. Hard to qualify the name on the stone with the person I see reflected in my own features every time I look in the mirror.  It’s difficult to acknowledge the concrete truth that’s engraved along with his name and those two dates, even when I see my mom standing alone beside it. People die. They get sick, they get old, they encounter tragedy or a fluke of timing. We’ll all have to do it. We’ll have to leave the ones we love, or be the ones left behind. It’s just how it goes. Those of us with faith in something beyond this sphere believe that it’s all temporary, but that’s sometimes hard to wrap your brain around when you’re delivering a eulogy. Dad is…