For Dad

Tonight, I thanked my Dad on Facebook.  He's a veteran.  I had fun addressing him by "rank".  [grin]  He was an officer. 

Dad was out of the service by the time I came into his life.  I told him tonight I was proud of him, and I meant it. 

I later went back and "corrected", telling him I'm proud of him, every day of the year.  I am. 

From what I've seen, little kids are always asking "Why?"  Dad would always (and still does) take the time to answer the question in detail. 

He is a very committed man.  I don't know all the details of his marriage to my birth mother, but I know this: he stayed with an alcoholic, unmedicated, bipolar woman for 10 years.  She left him.  Most men would have run screaming after a year. 

He's been married to my adoptive mother for over 30 years; quite an accomplishment these days.  It's obvious they have a healthy bond, I can tell they enjoy spending time together. 

This might embarrass him if he reads it, but he's very loving.  When he was a single Dad, he used to sit me down with cookies (nilla wafers) and milk, and we'd talk. More likely, I'd chatter at him (I still tend to do that). When I got the chicken pox, he took me to the doctor. I remember, lying in my bed, miserable and feverish. Dad kept checking on me, opening my door and looking in on me, and refilling the humidifier as it ran dry.


I remember, during his single parent days, how he used to take me to the eye doctor, and how much fun I had going to the optician to pick out my frames.  The best part of all, I thought, was picking up the new glasses.  He'd take me for ice cream all the way up through my teen years.  When I was about age 10, he told me "I'll buy you a scoop of ice cream for every touchdown you witness by the home team."  "What's a touchdown, Dad?"  [grin]
 
Who could forget the fun of a trip to the grocery store?  It was the highlight of my week.  He'd start at one end, stocking up on essentials like peanut butter, mayonaise, and white bread.  I ate a lot of those peanut butter and mayo sandwiches.  I love Dad, but hate them.  I was so enthralled when Dad's "girlfriend" (later my adoptive mother) made me a peanut butter and JELLY! 
 
While at the grocery store, I'd be sitting in the cart, with my legs sticking out through the holes.  We had a contract, every time - if I was a good girl, I'd get a treat when we got the produce department.  Sometimes, if Dad was feeling "silly" he'd run and push the cart, then release it and watch me squeal as I rolled away. 
 
Finally, the end of the trip!  Dad would select his produce, and time for my reward - a fresh grape!  One memorable time, he got me TWO grapes- one black, one white!  I still love grapes.  I didn't get one if I was a brat. 

He used to work very long hours, especially after he remarried - he had 4 new family members.  He raised her kids as if they were his own, and their children call him "Grand-dad".  Dad used to look in on me, late at night, as I'd sleep.  Sometimes I'd still be awake, and play possum.  If he got home before my bedtime, he'd help me "say my prayers" and listen to me talk about my day.  Good memories. 

I guess you could say that set part of the foundation for my God Time.  We attended church every week, and I was pretty timid. 

As I got older, I suspect I was a little restless, because Dad turned to me one week and said "Here, read this." as he handed me a Bible.  I wish I had a photo of that moment!  That's how it ALL started! 

I read the Bible, became enthralled, and the rest is history.  I remember one time during coffee hour after church, one parishoner said I'd learned more during the sermon, than he had.  My Sunday School teachers hated it, because I already knew all the good stories. 

When I was 8, the church gave me Bible I still own.  It's pretty battered, but very well loved.  I wouldn't give it up for anything.  It's one of the few things I took with me when I moved out. 

As I got sick, Dad did everything he could to help me.  I remember the day I was hospitalized for depression, Dad bought me a candy bar and a can of soda as I waited for the ambulance to take me to the hospital.  He stayed with me until I was admitted.  When I got out, he paid for many, many counseling sessions. 

When I met Ron, Dad was horrified.  Here was a blind, 37 year old man with limited employment prospects after his daughter.  Amazingly, Dad didn't kill him.  They get along great now, and when Dad tells me he likes Ron, I know he means it. 

I was pretty horrible to Dad for a good 8 years after that.  Bipolar disorder.  Dad just hung in there, probably relieving horrible times, and I know he did a lot of praying. 

Even after all that, when I called to tell him about Ron's accident he immediately offered to fly out.  He also helped with some bills, and paid for the wedding when Ron and I FINALLY got married! 

When I found out I had bipolar disorder, he was tremendously supportive.  As Ron's problems escalated, he was very supportive.  It's great to know I have Dad in my corner.  It's wonderful to know they both pray for Ron and I, every day of the year. 

I love you, Dad.  Thanks for being there!