Father's Day 2012, by Melissa (and Mommy)

Father's Day: that day we honor all that our dads do for us (for our household, these things are--but not limited to--grilling, Home Depot/Lowe's runs, fixing the shower door, paying bills, and generally making sure we don't land in the poor house...Mommy would land us in the poor house).

To celebrate, I interviewed my young star Melissa. Ever since she entered the communicative stage of life, I've interviewed her a lot about many different things. It may have contributed to her drama queen/diva tendencies, I don't know. So what would a Father's Day be without a Melissa interview? My dad isn't here to enjoy any of this anymore, but I feel him around me often and so I conducted a self-interview. Just to give you a perspective on the difference of Life Outlook between age 40...and age 3.

My Daddy

by Mommy, age 40

My dad was 53 on his last Father's Day.

My dad had black hair and hazel eyes.

My dad liked to wear cowboy hats and boots (I feel this was either a serious infatuation with Clint Eastwood or an unrealized life ambition).

My dad loved to eat steak and potatoes; he was not a health nut. His heart doctors would agree with me. My dad would agree with me; in fact, wherever he is right now, I know he's lecturing me about being at the gym more and using the phrase "do as I say not as I did" without the least trace of irony.

My dad was smart because he knew practically everything (seriously--unless you had quite a bit of free time you really didn't want to ask him how or why something was or worked. He was Google before there was Google).

My dad worked hard at being a decent human being. He wasn't perfect; he had many demons (don't we all, if we've lived life out loud). But he did the best he knew how to do at the time he did it. That's an important life skill--doing the best you know how to do at the time you're doing it and being okay with it (I don't think my dad was okay with it, and if he were here right now I would tell him he should be).

 My dad always told me I could do or be anything I wanted in Life, as long as I worked hard at it (and as long as it had job security and put food on the table..."Dream big, Amy," he once told me, "but not in a hippie commune. Hippie communes are where dreams go to die.") (Now that I'm 40, I wish I'd had the presence of mind back then to ask him how and why he knew that).

It made my dad happy when MASH was on...to visit with fellow Army guys young and old to talk grizzly old military people talk preferably with beers in hand...basically, just to talk. Talking was to my dad as oxygen is to life on Earth. Seriously, unless you had quite a bit of free time on your hand, you really didn't want to ask my dad how his day was going...he never responded with just "Fine." A question like that was a whole 2 hour process. (I'd like to note here that I do this, too, but in writing.)

If he could have gone on a trip, he'd have gone to either visit his family in the Pocono Mountains or on a road trip. My dad loved to visit different places and learn about how different people live. One of the first books I fell in love with was a book my dad gave me called BURY MY HEART AT WOUNDED KNEE about what happened to Native Americans in this country. I was a 7th grader, and he thught Native Americans and what had been done to them by were/was fascinating, and that I would too. I read that book about 100 times, because Native Americans ARE fascinating, and good people...and I was so upset at what had been done to them...and then I was mad...and then really livid. ......Whenever people ask me: how did you get to be such a bleeding heart liberal from a family of such conservative Republican-like people? I say: because of my very Republican, conservative dad who was such a bleeding heart liberal. (My dad's Republican idol at the time he died was Colin Powell...go read anything Colin Powell has to say and you'll understand.) (Don't read Rick Santorum; my dad would have told dirty jokes about Rick Santorum.)

I really loved it when my dad laughed. He had a silly laugh, and it's something I can still hear in my head. He could be watching TV in a different room, start laughing at something, and I'd start laughing too--having no idea what it was we were both laughing about, I just knew if he was laughing it was ridiculously funny. It was that kind of a laugh.

If I could have given my dad anything, I'd have given him a hug and said I love you. I don't think we did this enough. If you have a dad who you don't do this enough with and he's still available to you to do it with, please go do it now. The sense of longing you will feel when the chance is gone is really, really poopy and it makes you cry a lot.

My favorite thing about my dad was his family obsession. After he died, a coworker came to my mom's house bringing dinner for us. As my mom started to introduce my brother and me to her, she stopped my mom and said, "Oh, I already know who everyone is and all about you. He had your pictures plastered all over his office and talked about each of you all the time." 

"He had your pictures plastered all over his office and talked about you all the time." That one phrase by a total stranger summed up my dad, more than all the words I could ever write about him could.

I miss him deeply every day. The largest sense of loss I feel is about the fact he never got to hug or hold or endlessly lecture or know his grandchildren. On the outside, my dad was like a Marine drill sergeant--friends would call my house, get him on the phone, and go: Amy, every time I call your house, I feel like I need to stand at attention and scream "Sir! Yes Sir!" But on the inside, my dad was nothing but a soft, furry kitten. My dad would have been such a GOOD grandpa; it would have softened his harder outer shell and turned his soft, furry kitten inner heart to pureed mush. Whenever I feel my dad around me, this is a soft impression I have from him.

Wait a second....are you still here? Why?! Have you hugged your dad yet if he's still around? Hurry up! And then come back and read Melissa's very thoughtful 3 year old viewpoints on fatherdom below.

My Daddy

by Melissa, age 3

My dad is 2 years old.

His hair is brown and his eyes are black.

He loves to eat meat and courage and corn.

He is smart because he knows all about playing and about playing hide and seek and tag and games.

My dad works hard at playing games on his computer and saying, "Yes, m'am."

Daddy always tells me Happy Melissa Day!

It makes my daddy happy when I kiss him.

If he could go on a trip, he would go to fishing and he would take an airplane.

I really love it when my daddy plays frisbee outside with me.

If I could give my daddy anything, it would be a long, long neck with a beautiful, long nose...it's called an elephant!

My favorite thing about my daddy is to scratch his back. 

Happy Father's Day! Go take your dad out for some courage and corn today, and maybe give him a good back scratch and an elephant.