Yesterday, while on our way home from a romp at the dog park, we were listening to NPR. They had several callers sharing "dad being dad" stories, in honor of Father's Day weekend.
Of course, there were various examples of the unique ways in which dad's show affection, funny stories, and lovely memories being shared.
One girl, whose father had prepared for her a "terror attack kit" before she moved to New York City, commented on how her father used to walk by her and pat her shoulder. She found it annoying and actually tried to avoid him at home, but without fail, several times a day, he would walk by, give her a pat, and move along. She later found out that he had been listening to a Christian radio station and heard that people need a certain amount of physical contact each day to feel loved. Giving her random pats as he walked by was, apparently, his way of showing affection.
This, along with several of the other stories we heard during our drive, got me thinking about my dad.
If I had to describe him as a movie character (this is how my mind works), he would be a combination of Michael Keaton in Mr. Mom (80's movie reference, anyone?) and Steve Martin in Father Of The Bride - at least that's my take on him. Definitely a funny guy, loves to tell stories, but also one that we probably rolled our eyes at half of the time. There was never a shortage of affection in our house, and there still isn't - even as adults, we're not afraid to pat an arm, rub shoulders, or offer a quick embrace. To this day, I can always count on a great hug from him - he hugs like he means it, like he doesn't want to let go!
When I was growing up, he worked a lot - as most dads did - but I have truck loads of wonderful memories with him. Family dinners in the evening, watching Jeopardy or Star Trek re-runs, going for ice cream in the summer, playing catch in the back yard, bike rides, baseball games - typical dad stuff.
I could probably write a novel chronicling the memories of my dad that I can recall from the last 30 years, but I won't. Suffice it to say, they are mostly good memories - even at times when he was driving me crazy, there was always something endearing about him.
Somehow, when you're a kid (and also a grown up), your dad seems indestructible. Strong, capable, dependable. He's the one who fixes things, who teaches you things, even scares away the Boogie Man hiding under your bed. No matter what happens, you know he has your back, will always protect you, and will be there when you need him.
As we continue to grow up, we find that this isn't always the case. I was reminded of this fact again today, when I spoke to my dad on the phone. We called to wish him a happy Father's Day this afternoon, and as I do during most phone calls, I mentally prepared myself for the repetition that usually comes when we have a conversation. It never came - I found myself pleasantly surprised (and relieved) to have a coherent, though brief, exchange of thoughts with my dad, devoid of the usual frustration that comes with talking to someone suffering from Alzheimer's.
Later this evening, after having gone about my day, happily reflecting on my phone call with JB, I was speaking with my mom and she told me to hold on because my dad wanted to say hi.
It was as if we hadn't spoken. Any recollection of our earlier conversation had evaporated, even though it had only been a matter of hours since we had talked. He re-told me everything that he had done today, the weather, the movie that he'd gone to with my brother, and asked a few times what Ben and I had been up to. I played along, asked him how he liked the movie, made sure he had received the Father's Day card I'd sent, and laughed at his analysis of the weather, all the while, shocked at how fast he had gone from a seemingly "good day" to an apparent "bad day".
After this somewhat disturbing conversation, I was once again reminded that my dad won't always be the strong one. He won't always have my back - not by choice, but because of the cruelty of this disease.
I was also reminded to take advantage of the time we have with him now. This is exactly the reason that Ben and I are bound for Ohio - more time, more memories, more of anything!
So, as the days, weeks, and months slip away from us, I am blessed to have, as I said, truck loads of happy memories of my dad, and look forward to making many more in the precious time we have left with him!
*Happy Father's Day, JB!!!*
no regrets!!
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