Daddy’s Girl

If you’ve been around here for awhile, you know I often write about my mom. She’s good fodder for this blog, and luckily for me, she’s also a good sport. I’ve written less often about my dad. As a belated Father’s Day tribute, this post is for my dad.

For those not following along, my dad fell and broke his hip back in March. I’ve been splitting my time between PA and NY ever since, which means I’ve been spending a lot of time with him. (It’s important for me to note here that my sister has taken on the role of daily caregiver. She has now earned saint status, IMO.)

When I was little, I thought my dad was the greatest, funniest, smartest man alive. He is all of that, but he’s also flawed. Like all people.

His natural set point is jovial and generous. He is quick to make a joke and the first to give a friend or family member the shirt off his back or the last dollar in his pocket. And that’s not hyperbole (which I know I’m prone to); I’ve seen it happen. Literally.

But his new post-fall/post-surgery physical limitations and the sudden loss of freedom has really affected him (understandably). This was especially true during the first month or two, when he was frequently irritated, frustrated, and even argumentative at times. My happy-go-lucky dad turned into something of a curmudgeon. (Sorry, Dad, but it’s true!)

But now that he’s more mobile and my parents are mostly settled in their new home (yes, in the middle of his recovery, my parents decided to move … That’s a blog for another day), the old Tom Dewey is back. He’s more relaxed and less frustrated. He’s back to cracking jokes and even cracked open a Rolling Rock with his grandsons over Father’s Day weekend.

Sadly, that same day, one of his oldest friends passed away.

Charlie and my dad had been friends for nearly their entire lives. My memory of Charlie is of a man who was large, loud, and full of life. He was gregarious and always willing to help out a friend — just like my dad. He was also as loyal as my dad, which is saying a lot.

[Case in point: Charlie called my dad every day after his surgery to make sure he was okay. No long discussions. No deep talks. Just 2 minutes each morning to make sure my dad was still breathing. Still alive. Exactly what my dad would have done, had the shoe been on the other foot.]

It’s that loyalty, that consistency — I think — that made Charlie’s passing so hard for my dad. Family and friends mean everything to him.

Of all the traits I inherited from my dad, and there are many, like:

I hope it’s his generous heart and fierce loyalty that I pass on to my own kids. That, and the ability to pour a beer without a lot of foam … It really is a skill.

—LJDT