58...

This past weekend, my family got together with the purpose of just spending some time together and remembering my father as June 30th would've been his 58th birthday. In anticipation of our get together, my grandfather kindly drew up a list of talking points we might consider while we were together, but in lieu of creating a complete sob scene in the middle of Millbury's LongHorn Steakhouse, we just said a few words and opted to simply enjoy our time as a family.

However, re-reading through my grandfather's list, I felt like it might be important to really think about some of the things he wrote and lay out who my father really was to me. The very first thing that comes to mind about my dad is his presence. He was 6'4", rough around the edges and intimidating to anyone meeting him for the first time, but under that calloused, leathery skin, he was a complete softy. He had a passion for life, a desire to laugh and a quiet love. I always think of his strength - both physical strength and strength of character. He made new friends wherever he went and he wanted to share his love for Christ with them through his desire to help in whatever way he could.

One particular scene that sticks out in my mind about his underlying softness was when he and my mother decided to get chickens; they purchased 6 chicks, and for a couple months the kitchen was filled with the sounds and smells of baby chicks. They quickly transformed from animals into pets and craved the attention we all gave them, often peeping if they couldn't see or hear any of us in the room. One night, my father was sitting at the kitchen table reading, as he often did, accompanied with the trusty bag of potato chips, and the chicks were being particularly loud. He moved his chair in front of their cage which was on top of a chest of drawers, and simply sat there, reading, occasionally consoling the chicks with a quiet conversation. I also remember the first time one of the chickens laid the very first egg. He went into the coop to see what all their cackling was about and emerged triumphant with a fragile, tiny white egg held high in his hand.

My father taught us a lot of things - not so much in specific lessons, but simply in the man that he was. He taught us how to work hard, how to earn the money we made, how to stand up for what we believed in and how to fight for what was right. He taught us the everyday things in life, but in so doing, he taught us how to be strong individuals. I remember going with him to work on weekends, learning how to hammer nails, sand down drywall and use power tools. He taught us how to laugh at the little things in life and to treasure what really mattered.  He in no uncertain terms was perfect, but showed us the difference between right and wrong and made sure we knew when we were the latter.

My father loved to smile and especially loved a good joke. He always loved that slapstick humor like The Three Stooges and the Monty Python movies, and I remember spending Saturday mornings with him watching the Mystery Science Theater spoofs and not being able to resist his contagious laughter. He loved Pinky and the Brain and Robin Hood: Men in Tights, Bill Cosby, and anything by Pixar.

It's hard to focus on one thing that I miss the most about my father... I miss him - everything about him. I think the thing I've missed the most especially lately is his voice and its many qualities; his no-nonsense tone, his pensive 'I know everything about everything' tone, his laughter and especially the way he used to lovingly call me Punkin'. I sometimes feel like I'm forgetting what it sounded like and it scares me. It makes me fear what else I may forget as time goes on.

I think about the last morning I saw him alive, how he was taking my air conditioner out of my bedroom window and I wish I'd said 'I love you' but didn't. I know he knows...but sometimes I just wish I'd said it one last time.