For My Father, Who Is Far Away

I get warm fuzzies when I think about my daddy. That's who he is to me: My Daddy. As much as I love my mother, as much as we connect in way that is both friendship and mother/daughter, I will always be a Daddy's Girl.

I know he wishes he'd been more patient when we were children. I understand that: I struggle with that same impatience with my own children. I have his temper, you see, quick to flame and quick to fade into guilt and regret. I know we knew there were times to avoid Daddy, such as the middle of the night or first thing in the morning. If we woke up with a problem, we went to Mom's side of the bed--she was less likely to growl. And if we really messed up? The fear of our Father's hand when he got home from work was a potent one. Even stubborn brat me couldn't laugh when he gave me a swat or two on the bottom (which I did when Mom did it, foolish me). And I know he was the yeller while my mother was the ridiculously patient one.

I don't really remember all that, though. Not in that deep down way that sticks with you through the ages. What I remember is that I always knew I could trust my daddy. He would never let me down. He would love me to pieces even when I messed up the most (which I did, a lot) and give me hugs and cuddles when I needed them the most (which I did, plenty). He would make us laugh and groan with his silly jokes and awful puns. He would make delicious meals for us when he was in the mood or Mom was busy studying. He would race the car just right on the down slope of a hill to give us butterflies in our tummies and make us giggle. He would let us rub his belly and the top of his head and tease him about his expanding waistline and diminishing hairline (he said it was all Our Fault anyway). He would let us wrap him around our fingers and reveal him for who he really was: a big rumbly teddy bear with a heart of gold.

Children trust him instinctively. It's a rare child who doesn't take one look at him and know that this is a person he or she can love. It generally is only a matter of minutes before they're playing with him or sitting on his lap. I've seen children who have never met him before walk straight to him and open their arms to be picked up. My mother says he's always been like that.

My children adore him. Smiles beam like sunshine from their faces just at their first glimpse of him. My Widget will actually take medicine from him without having to be held down like a cat. DramaBoy will demand a game of Polar Bear (tag, with Grandpa as the PB chasing or being chased by the Small Children), something he doesn't ask anyone else to play--because Grandpa is the only one who will play it properly and cheerfully. They both love to cuddle him. They'll go to sleep almost like angels if Grandpa is the one who puts them to bed.

As you can imagine, I'm missing that particular talent a great deal these days.

I am, in general, missing my Daddy a great deal these days. I know he's where he's supposed to be, and I believe in what he's doing, but I feel the sacrifice more keenly than ever for it being a more willing one this time.

I've always been able to crawl in my Daddy's lap, even though I'm technically far too old for it now. He would always hold me. He never was a man to fear letting his tenderness show.

I miss him. I miss his lap.

I love you, Daddy. Happy Father's Day.