#1 Dad

I try not to dread this time of year, but rather, just ignore it, because tho I'm hardly an orphan, when Father's Day comes around, I feel the heartstrings pull when I hear the ads or have to sit thru those sappy commercials. And honestly, I get a little jealous.

I have friends who are dads and my own brother and his wife should have some baby news this year, but when I'm stuck on which form to file for my taxes, when I go to a baseball game, when the latest guy I'm dating turns out to be a real piece of work, I really wish my dad was still around.

He named me. I was his 'little angel'. I used to sit on the top of his cowboy boots, wrap my arms and legs around his burly calf and he'd go about his business in the house or pretend to look for me. He played Santa Claus for the local kids when he was a member of the Elks Club. He's the reason, even tho I'm right-handed, I throw a softball with my left hand and catch with my right - because he let me make that decision with my fifth grade logic (Why Dad? WHY?!) and it's why I still can't throw for shit. But he hung up a five-gallon bucket horizontally on one of our fences so I could practice throwing consistently and, at the time, I improved. I had braces for years and many times after some major teeth pulling or a surgery, Dad would drive home with me just curled up on the seat, my head on his lap, my face tear-stained and my mouth numb and stuffed with gauze. He taught me how to ride a bike and drive a stick. Mom said he cried when he read the part in one of my letters from Norway about finally finding a store where they sold peanut butter. He worked hard. He laughed loudly. I like to think, despite the fact I was adopted, that I get my big laugh from him.

As a nanny, there are lots of parental moments I suddenly remember from the past. I have great memories of my grandfathers who were both characters. My Grandpa Frank, my dad's dad, made a great, big sound when he sneezed. A-POOYA! It scared the bejesus out of my brother and I every time and I think he knew that. We always got the feeling he'd been a hardass with my dad and his brothers, but he was always a teddy bear to his grandchildren.

My Grandpa Gordon, my mom's step-dad, used to tell us after any little incident found us in tears over a scrape or fall that we'd be ok by the time we were married. Suddenly, I find myself saying this to Jack and Liam when they give that stunned look after a knock on the head into a wall or something of that nature.. when there's that moment of 'am I ok or not' they're trying to figure out. If they nod when I say that, then I know they're ok and drama has luckily been avoided.

And my step-dad used to call me 'girl', as in 'Hey girl!' when he'd see me, which made me feel like a dog being called, but I never said anything because I knew he was really trying to find his own way to connect with me and taking my dad's place was a challenge.

But Dad was the biggest man in my life, literally. He was Hercules to me. A giant of 6' 3" - taller when he wore his favorite cowboy hat - who could make the meanest shredded zucchini scramble with bacon bits when he'd make us breakfast for dinner or homemade pizza, for which he'd use a can of cheap beer in the crust. When my prom date's car ran out of gas a half a mile or so from our house, which was out in the boondocks and wasn't a well-lit road, he's the one who got the gas can and went back to the car with my date at 1am to make sure he got back home safely. When I drove my car into a ditch late one night, way on the other side of town in the middle of winter, headed to a party after work I shouldn't have been going to, he was the one who kept Mom from scolding me while I was in shock and the one who told me over and over that it was going to be ok.

He was a son of a bitch when he was angry, which was often and usually not over anything important, but I don't think anyone, not even he, understood the deep-rooted anger that plagued him. As the years pass without him, I remember less of his temper, even tho I think I inherited that too, and more of the love I know he had for us. I hold onto the good memories because I know that's how he'd rather I remember him.

So here's to your dad, to my dad, and the other dads - those with us and those who aren't - may they all know how much they're loved.

I miss you Pops.. love Susie-Q.