On the Eve of my father's Birthday I am struck with a poignant, childhood memory of my relationship with my "Daddy". One of my first memories of my dad is laden with so many senses. I am sitting on the bathroom counter. I couldn't have been more than two or three years old...Perched near the sink, legs crossed. I helped my father lather his face with sweet, silky shaving cream...I can still smell the clean soapy cream, and vividly remember how carefully I spread the white , fluffy, airy foam all over his face. He would lean in close so I could "carefully" paint his stubbly cheeks, lip, and neck. I then would sit and stare in amazement as he expertly whisked the razor across his face. He then dipped the razor into a sink full of hot water, which I dipped my fingers in, watching the shaving cream float and then melt into the little pool. All the while he would listen to whatever I jabbered about as if it was the most important information he would ever hear. I would ask him questions which I can no longer recall. I'm sure they were earth shattering things like, "What are you going to do today?" "Do you love me as much as you love Susie?" Each question was met with a constant, low reassuring tone. To this day, when I call my dad, and, I often have frantic, earth shattering questions or concerns, I am met with the very same comforting voice I heard as a child. The most recent memory is as poignant. I called on the phone faced with an impossible situation. I had to confess to him the most unbearable raw ugly truth that I had deceived my family and put them in financial peril. The details are unimportant and the situation is well on it's way to being resolved. It was absolutely the hardest thing I have ever or will ever have to do. It is so easy to love your own children completely and unconditionally. It is yet another to accept that kind of love from others. Isn't it funny how we can marvel at our children's questioning our forgiveness yet we refuse to know in our hearts we are forgiven by our parents in the same fashion. When I was finally able to choke the horrible words out of my mouth to my father's quiet listening ears there was no yelling, no silent disappointment. There were tears. Lots and lots of tears. He was so sorry I felt I had to bear this alone. He cried with me and for me. It was the most reaffirming moment of parent child love I have ever experienced. My Dad is far from perfect in his own life of failed endeavors and relationships. He also is brilliant, funny, sensitive and proud. Too proud to ask for help...gee I guess I come by that naturally. Bursting with pride for his grandchildren and their accomplishments. Proud of his children for simply being. I am certain he doesn't see these wonderful qualities in himself because he is also terribly self deprecating. I hope he will read this and know that I wouldn't be the parent I am if he weren't the wonderful dad he has been. Happy Birthday Daddy.
