Wednesday, September 16, 2009
Tuesday, August 4, 2009
Every night, Dad would tuck me into bed and tell me a story. I really have no memory of him ever actually reading me a bedtime story though he probably did. I do remember the wonderful tales he would spin, conceived and born right there on the spot from his wonderful imagination. The one "character" that has endured, that will one day be introduced to my future Son at bedtime is Floppy the Big Nosed Indian. He always began the story with that "Floppy the Big Nosed Indian" and off he would go. I do not remember any of the specific stories Dad told of Floppy's adventures, just that somehow he always managed to get himself in some sortof trouble and always ALWAYS was able to extract himself from the predicament and come out looking golden. What was great was that it was inevitably Floppy's oversized nose which got him the trouble and Floppy's oversized nose which saved the day. Somehow, his nose, the bane of his exsistence, his source of embarassment and shame, always came through for him in the end. Now I don't know what life lessons there are to be learned from those stories. I don't know what the moral was and I will not belittle the memory by trying to analyze and figure it out. What I do know is that my Dad took the time each and every night to sit on the side of my bed and let me see what a wonderful, silly, intelligent, and loving Father he was, and how much he loved being my Dad. I will carry Floppy with me forever.
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
Sunday, July 26, 2009
So here I am, 39 years old, wonderful, loving wife, geat job, the future bright and full of possibilities. And each day when I wake up I think of my Dad... and how I can be, not just like him, but as near as I can get. As a husband, as a future father, as a man. He, I am sure without ever being conscious of it, set for me, what it is to be a Man.
Starting this blog has been more difficult than I imagined it would be. I am filled with a sadness as I write that wants to take over. Wants me go hide and cry because I know my Father is getting sick. His Alzheimers progresses and the Daddy I know will eventually fade and I am not there for him. I took a job across the country and I know as a result I will miss so much of him.... I dread the day when I come home and I am a stranger to him. This sweet, loving and compassionate man who raised me and loved me no matter what.
My hope is that heis proud. Proud of me as his Son, and proud of himself for doing such a great job. For showing me not through lecture or speech, but through pure example what it is to be a man.