Earlier today, a friend suggested I be sure to let my Dad know how much of an influence he's had on me. My immediate reaction was one of, "Well, duh!" But then I realized this is not something I do nearly often enough. My Dad's not the sort of guy who's particularly comfortable with the expression of emotions -- especially not the mushy sort. I, in turn, have gotten in the habit of not expressing them to him. And it's kind of a shame. Because my Dad truly is one of the best men I know.
He didn't necessarily have what I'd refer to as an easy childhood, (though if I were to bring that up to him, he'd likely dismiss it.) Still, he did well in school, and followed up college with law school. This, in turn, was followed by a two year stint in the Army. If memory serves correctly, he graduated from law school, married my Mom, and headed off to basic training, all within a two week period in July of 1956. He has steadfastly supported my Mom and our family ever since.
The memories I have of my Dad from my childhood are of a man who made up silly rhymes and songs and sang them to me. Who made a point to lift me up off my feet whenever we stepped over a curb. Who happily put my stuffed skunk ("Skunkie" -- go figure) on the steering wheel of his car and let him "drive". Who took me with him to put up campaign signs for various political candidates, and instilled in me early on a keen interest in all things political.
Later, as I became a snotty teenager, our relationship became a bit strained. I know I was no peach to live with, and Dad, I think, always felt at a bit of a loss as to how to interact with me once I was no longer a little girl who giggled at his silliness. Still, he endured my adolescence without throttling me, and even had me come work for him in his law office the summer I was 15. (All my friends were already 16 and gainfully employed.) You might think that stint is what inspired my later decision to become a lawyer myself, but mostly, I answered the phones and read romance novels that summer, so I can't rightly say that it was.
There's no denying, however, that his career choice influenced my own. I don't know that I consciously thought of it that way when I chose to follow in his footsteps. But I do know that within me has always been the desire to make him proud. I know that I am certainly proud of him. He's worked hard all his life. He's been a good husband to my Mom. He's been a die hard Tiger fan and alum. He's always been active in politics and, though our philosophies no longer align, I greatly respect his dedication to his beliefs. He's not only attended the same church for almost 50 years, he's given countless hours of his time to it, serving in multiple capacities. He's turning 78 in a month and still goes out for a 3 mile jog (or, as he calls it, "chog") on a regular basis.
One thing that's meant so much to me over the years is how very many times when I've encountered someone who knows my Dad, the first thing they've said is, "He is the nicest man." It's true. My Dad is nice. He is kind. He is a gentle man and a gentleman. And though he may not verbalize it well or often, I have no doubt that he loves me. He has always been there for me, whether it was helping me find a job, or picking up my daughter on short notice, or helping me wrestle a lawnmower. I'm sure that there are times he doesn't quite know what to make of me, but he never wavers in his support of me. And I am so very lucky to have him as a father.
Love you, Dad. Happy Father's Day.