One of the first posts ever written in this blog was about him. I knew I would write it even before I wrote it. It came to me while I was on a morning run, thinking about life and processing how much our world had changed in a blink of an eye. The post was called Fathers and Daughters and I wrote it because people like him need to be recognized. People like him need to be celebrated.
He’s shown up many times throughout my nearly five years writing here. I’ve talked about Wednesdays, and the thing he said about my husband, I wrote about the time when he blocked the wind for me, and the words he said that helped me wade through deep grief. I know I even made fun of his orange and black tiger print Bengal pants. His wisdom is peppered throughout this blog.
You never know when his name might pop up in this space. Maybe on a Tuesday or perhaps a Thursday. It might be July and it could be in October. His name can pop up anytime. . . but it will always pop up on this day. January 24th is his day.
January 24th is for my Dad.
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Today we celebrate my Dad’s birthday.
As the days and months move forward and we close the door on another year of life, most of us have found that the day of our birth is marked with less and less fanfare. Party hats and favors are saved for the kids. Balloons aren’t worth the effort. Who really needs a cake? And a birthday party? Wouldn’t that involve cleaning?
Yes, the celebration of a birthday shifts from childhood into adulthood. The celebration shifts, but the importance doesn’t. The importance of this day remains as important as it was 65 years ago.
For that reason, today, I write for my Dad.
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Dad,
I wish you could hear what I say about you when you’re not around. I wish you knew how much your name crosses my lips in both casual conversations and deeper conversations about life. I wish you knew how I describe to people what it was like having you as a Dad. . . what it is like being your daughter.
I think if I were to write a book, I might title it, Everything I Know, I Learned From My Dad. Or something like, The Important Lessons, I Learned From My Dad. Or maybe even, The Stuff That Matters, Came From My Dad.
(I suppose I can work on the title.)
I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking, come on, Summer, you are an adult and you’ve made your own choices and learned your own lessons. And you might be thinking, that there have been multitudes of people who have poured into my life–certainly I shouldn’t give you all the credit. But you know what I think, Dad? You know what I know? I know that the most important lesson came from you.
Dad, you taught me about perspective.
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It seems like such a small thing. Eleven letters joined together to spell one word. One simple word. One simple word that can change everything. . .
You taught me that life isn’t about getting to the finish line first, but to relish the journey.
You taught me that pulling over at a dive restaurant will reap great rewards–the book can’t be judged by it’s cover.
You taught me that mistakes are okay and a part of life and one of life’s greatest teaching tools.
You taught me that I don’t have to have everything figured all out, that one step at a time is just fine.
Dad, from you I learned that no one is given a pass from trials in life, but that we have a choice in how we let those trials effect us.
I learned that to be proud of my work when I lay my head down at night, is better than any award, accolade or recognition I could receive from anyone else.
You taught me that to keep my standards high matters–even if the worlds standards look so different.
And you taught me that to have class and dignity, is far more important than getting ahead.
Dad, I know that I am who I am, in part, because you are who you are. I am so thankful you are my Dad. I am so proud to be your daughter.
Happy Birthday, Dad.
Love,
Summer
