life with my dad

Yesterday was my dad's birthday. He is now 83 years old. It is hard to believe he could be as old as 83 because that sounds so old. And while I realize when I see him that he is getting older and more frail, I still think of him as my young funny dad.

My dad was the fun dad in the neighborhood. He regularly bought ice cream bars from the ice cream man--not a bar for each of us, or even a bar for his kids and the neighbor kids. No my dad bought cases of ice cream bars and put them in the freezer in the garage--and he left the door to the garage unlocked--so that anybody who asked could have an ice cream bar.

Every summer, my dad would get out our swimming pool, which, at the time, seemed huge, but was likely not huge. It had four rings around it that had to be filled up with air before the pool was ready to fill with water. My dad would get out this old maroon and silver vacuum and he'd change it from sucking to blowing and fill up the rings. Then he would fill the pool with warm water by hooking up the hose to the washing machine faucet. And then, every night after work, when the neighbor ladies came by to chat, he would inevitably pick up one of them and toss her into the pool, clothes and all. And everybody laughed and came back to visit again.

My dad was a carpenter. He could build anything--including our camper and my playhouse. My best Christmas was the one when I woke up and found a playhouse in the backyard that my dad had built in his spare time that winter. On the outside, it was painted to match my parent's house. It had real windows and curtains and was bright yellow inside. It was big enough to hold all of my little girl crap--a couple of tables and chairs and all of my barbie stuff and my baby doll stuff and my dressups and the cupboard I recently refinished for Breanne. It was the best place to set up and and play an all-day game of Monopoly or Risk, and even though my dad originally made it for all of his kids, it wasn't long before it was clear to everyone that it wasn't a playhouse, it was a dollhouse and I would be deciding when it was time for the boys to get out.

I have many fond memories of time spent with my dad--the places we saw and the things we did--like the nearly-every Sunday drives to Evanston or Coalville or Heber where we'd stop and eat dinner or if the drive was after Sunday dinner, we'd find a Dairy-Queen type place and stop for ice cream cones. Even at 83, my dad still loves to go for a drive and check out stuff that he reads or hears about. He is still delighted whenever I visit or bring my family to visit.

I've always felt safe with my dad, very loved and valued. Up until the last few years, I can honestly say that my dad had never said a harsh word to me, and I guess that it isn't too surprising that there might come a time when we would disagree about something. I'm just glad it doesn't happen often.

I love you Dad. Happy Birthday and please have many more.