If your Dad is still above ground, count yourself more than fortunate. Other than your mother's love, you'll never again experience that which your father feels for you, even if you aren't the best of friends at all times.
In my earliest years my Dad was my hero. I remember combing my hair just like my dad, bright blonde bushiness and cow licks attempting to maneuver in other directions, but I would constantly add water to keep that neat military part in due order. Pops was a military man, an aircraft mechanic in the Air Force; a job he loved and performed well soon after my birth and into my early school years. Being a Southern man coupled with military discipline made him harsh at times, but his harshness was never without love.
Dad would throw baseball with me, even though I didn't particularly care for baseball--even back then. But Dad loved baseball and every moment I spent with him was the best, so I pitched the ball when he had time to do so.
His form of discipline was tough, but typically not served without need. Let's say he wasn't a believer in "time-out" or "standing in a corner." Dad would whoop me when I needed whooped, but he never did so without telling me why.
In my teen years I hated and loved my Dad simultaneously, but always wanted his approval in everything I did. He could be harsh and "that look" would scare and incite a small amount of rage in me.
I had never seen my Pops so happy as when his first grandchild was born. My first born, Courtney, was his pride and joy. See, my Dad had fathered two boys and never a girl. To see not only his first grandchild but his first grand daughter was a sight to behold. Every day he came by my apartment to see his baby girl, and every day his baby girl would get so excited when he picked her up. Courtney would flail around and smile her toothless grin as Dad bounced her up and down and kissed her little face. "Poppa" had come full circle--a strict disciplinarian with two young men to the softest teddy bear who ever lived. That teddy bear would simply have to pick his grand baby up from her crib and his heart melted.
When Dad's grand daughter was five months old and his oldest son was only a couple weeks removed from his twenty-third birthday, he left this world suddenly.
He drove a little white Ford Ranger for the last few years before he passed and every time I would see a similar truck I would throw up my hand and wave before realizing that wasn't him.
And now, twenty-one years since he left us, I still get choked up thinking about him and wanting to just give him one more hug. His loss was devastating to me--our last conversation an argument. It took twenty years for me to move beyond the argument, as it was my fault and not his, and stop beating myself up for something as silly as that argument was. I finally came to grips with the amount of love he felt for his sons and grand daughter and only hope he's still looking down on all the fine grand children he has now. There's no doubt he would love watching Courtney soon graduate with her associates degree, Cassidy playing in the high school band, Evan on his high school baseball team and Emily Ann on her softball team. His pride would only be surpassed by his telling everyone who his grand children were at any event!
I miss you, Dad and wish you were here......for just one more hug.
