Day 542 -- Dads
So, it's another Fathers' Day, and once again I can't quite figure out the punctuation on Fathers. Is it a single father's day, as in my own father? Is it a day for all fathers? Or does it belong to no one and is a day in honor of all fathers, plural? My vote is for the second option, for the record.
For my Fathers' Day post today, I want to re-live one moment that I remember from each of the fathers that were at the biggest humdinger of a Fathers' Day party today, mainly my aunt's house at the lake -- well, at least after all of the rain stopped.
There's my dad. My dad and I have had lots of fun, memorable times together, but the one that sticks out tonight is the time that he took me to a Red Wings playoff game when I was about 12 years-old. For years, as we commuted from Spring Arbor to Lansing for gymnastics, we would listen to the Red Wings play on 760 WJR, learning all of the names, talents, and quirks of the Red Wings roster. Then, my dad scored playoff tickets and for months we planned the big night. When it came, my dad picked me up from school with a surprise -- a giant frozen octopus. This was right about the time that the Joe Louis Arena staff starting getting pretty tight about throwing octopi out on the ice after a Red Wings score, but I smuggled it in under the armpit of my Miami Hurricanes Starter Jacket (yep, you read that right -- I did own one of those). At the first Red Wings goal, I ran down what seemed like a thousand stairs and chucked that still somewhat-frozen, slimy octopus as hard as I could onto the ice. I felt like a hero as I ran back up the stairs, getting a high five from every semi-drunk, proud Red Wings fan on the way to my seat. I don't think my dad or I will ever forget that night, coming home from a Red Wings win, an octopus toss, and a night of fun together.
There is my Uncle Stan. My "dad" moment from Uncle Stan involves the Spring Arbor Memorial Day parade, which we have attended together as a family since I was in middle school. We always sit on the same section of the parade route together, always park on the same side street, always go to my aunt's house for a cookout afterwards. There was one particular year, however, when I remember Uncle Stan doing his darndest to start the wave up and down both sides of the section of our parade route. At first, people were resistant, but eventually, the crazier he became, the more people started to play along. Finally, we had a full-fledged wave going -- probably the first and only time this has ever happened on M-60. It's a dad moment because starting the wave is such a dad thing to do, and because his daughter Jessie was so embarrassed. OMG.
Grandpa Sharp was there. The dad memory I am thinking of tonight is more of a grandpa memory, actually. A couple of Easters ago, we were at the Sharp's house, and things were a little crazy because of the sheer volume of young children in the house. There wasn't enough room at the dining room table for everyone, so a "kids table" was designated in the living room. Only Dharia and Breslin really sat at it and ate, and once we got them settled with a plate of food, we dug in and didn't really notice anything else. Not, that is, until we started to wonder where Rob was. When we looked up from eating, we saw that he was sitting at the kids' table, having a nice conversation with both Breslin and Dharia. When we offered to let him have a seat at the table, he politely declined. You could tell he was just tickled to be hanging out with his grandkids.
My Uncle Mark brought the jet ski out to the lake today, and I started thinking about the many, many times that he has entertained us by driving the boat or the jetski or hauling our sorry butts around on the tube or, heaven help us, waterskiis. My Uncle Mark always, always, always has sweets around, which he loves to share with people around him. Suckers, mints, circus peanuts -- you never really know what might materialize out of the cab of his truck. He makes my husband Rice Krispie treats for Christmas -- every year without fail. I love that about him.
My brother, or Uncle E as my children know him, was there on his first Fathers' Day. When Breslin was tiny, he called Evan "Uncle Bounce" because Evan would do a lot of throwing him around when they were together, much to his delight. All three of my children love it when Uncle Bounce gets in the mood to tickle, throw, jiggle, or generally rough-house with them.
My Grandpa Stuart was there today, and the moment I am thinking of tonight comes from way back when I was a little girl. My Grandpa and Grandma Stuart used to babysit a lot for us when we were little. Most of the time, we would go over to their house, but in this case, he was over at our house on Elm Street, which I thought was a special treat. It was just the two of us. Grandpa got out the white paper and the markers and we started to say words. Grandpa would write the word and together we would draw a picture. When we were done, we would go through and say the word on each picture together. It's my first memory of reading.
There were a couple of awesome dad-figures who I didn't see, but I feel that it is important to recognize tonight as well:
There is my own Grandpa Evans. This may sound weird, but I remember riding in my grandpa's huge truck when I was a little girl. It might have been his work truck, I'm not sure. He worked for the state highway department and sometimes drove a big orange truck, but he had a big truck of his own too with what I believe was a ram's head on the front that I would just stare at, mesmerized. I digress. I remember asking my grandpa about the lines that were painted on the road. I wanted to know what the dashed lines and the solid lines meant and why they were different colors. I remember my Grandpa patiently explaining them to me and even giving me a little quiz when I was done. After I passed he gave me a hug and said, "That's my girl." I couldn't have been more than 4 or 5 years old, and that meant the world to me.
My step-dad, Bob, is another great dad in my life. He and Dharia have always had a special relationship. One moment that I am thinking of tonight is when he and my mom stayed with us for Christmas Eve. Dharia sat on his lap and he read a Christmas book. She was SO happy and giggly, it was like she could NOT believe her stupid luck that her Papa Bob was going to stay the night at her house AND it was Christmas.
And finally, there is my own husband, who is Super Dad in my eyes. The memory that comes to mind right now is the first or second day home after leaving the hospital with AJ. I was a tired, miserable, hormonal mess, but my husband just seemed to be the rock of everlasting energy and patience. When I would try and fail, he would take over. When I stumbled down the stairs from a much-needed nap, I was shocked to see him with all three kids on his lap, looking as cool as a cucumber -- every one happy, clean and satisfied. Colby is my rock and without him, I wouldn't last one. single. day. This moment captures that feeling, as does this picture:
That's about all I have in me tonight. Dads are awesome. I feel so lucky to have so many amazing dad-type people in my life and my kids' lives. At least I got that punctuation right. I think.
Happy Father's Day, God! You are my heavenly Father, and I thank you for blessing me so richly with the earthly fathers in my life. They are an amazing group of guys. Thanks for all the memories I have with them and for the way they have shaped me into the person I am today. Thank you for the way they look out for me, just like you do. In your name I pray, Amen.
For my Fathers' Day post today, I want to re-live one moment that I remember from each of the fathers that were at the biggest humdinger of a Fathers' Day party today, mainly my aunt's house at the lake -- well, at least after all of the rain stopped.
There's my dad. My dad and I have had lots of fun, memorable times together, but the one that sticks out tonight is the time that he took me to a Red Wings playoff game when I was about 12 years-old. For years, as we commuted from Spring Arbor to Lansing for gymnastics, we would listen to the Red Wings play on 760 WJR, learning all of the names, talents, and quirks of the Red Wings roster. Then, my dad scored playoff tickets and for months we planned the big night. When it came, my dad picked me up from school with a surprise -- a giant frozen octopus. This was right about the time that the Joe Louis Arena staff starting getting pretty tight about throwing octopi out on the ice after a Red Wings score, but I smuggled it in under the armpit of my Miami Hurricanes Starter Jacket (yep, you read that right -- I did own one of those). At the first Red Wings goal, I ran down what seemed like a thousand stairs and chucked that still somewhat-frozen, slimy octopus as hard as I could onto the ice. I felt like a hero as I ran back up the stairs, getting a high five from every semi-drunk, proud Red Wings fan on the way to my seat. I don't think my dad or I will ever forget that night, coming home from a Red Wings win, an octopus toss, and a night of fun together.
There is my Uncle Stan. My "dad" moment from Uncle Stan involves the Spring Arbor Memorial Day parade, which we have attended together as a family since I was in middle school. We always sit on the same section of the parade route together, always park on the same side street, always go to my aunt's house for a cookout afterwards. There was one particular year, however, when I remember Uncle Stan doing his darndest to start the wave up and down both sides of the section of our parade route. At first, people were resistant, but eventually, the crazier he became, the more people started to play along. Finally, we had a full-fledged wave going -- probably the first and only time this has ever happened on M-60. It's a dad moment because starting the wave is such a dad thing to do, and because his daughter Jessie was so embarrassed. OMG.
Grandpa Sharp was there. The dad memory I am thinking of tonight is more of a grandpa memory, actually. A couple of Easters ago, we were at the Sharp's house, and things were a little crazy because of the sheer volume of young children in the house. There wasn't enough room at the dining room table for everyone, so a "kids table" was designated in the living room. Only Dharia and Breslin really sat at it and ate, and once we got them settled with a plate of food, we dug in and didn't really notice anything else. Not, that is, until we started to wonder where Rob was. When we looked up from eating, we saw that he was sitting at the kids' table, having a nice conversation with both Breslin and Dharia. When we offered to let him have a seat at the table, he politely declined. You could tell he was just tickled to be hanging out with his grandkids.
My Uncle Mark brought the jet ski out to the lake today, and I started thinking about the many, many times that he has entertained us by driving the boat or the jetski or hauling our sorry butts around on the tube or, heaven help us, waterskiis. My Uncle Mark always, always, always has sweets around, which he loves to share with people around him. Suckers, mints, circus peanuts -- you never really know what might materialize out of the cab of his truck. He makes my husband Rice Krispie treats for Christmas -- every year without fail. I love that about him.
My brother, or Uncle E as my children know him, was there on his first Fathers' Day. When Breslin was tiny, he called Evan "Uncle Bounce" because Evan would do a lot of throwing him around when they were together, much to his delight. All three of my children love it when Uncle Bounce gets in the mood to tickle, throw, jiggle, or generally rough-house with them.
My Grandpa Stuart was there today, and the moment I am thinking of tonight comes from way back when I was a little girl. My Grandpa and Grandma Stuart used to babysit a lot for us when we were little. Most of the time, we would go over to their house, but in this case, he was over at our house on Elm Street, which I thought was a special treat. It was just the two of us. Grandpa got out the white paper and the markers and we started to say words. Grandpa would write the word and together we would draw a picture. When we were done, we would go through and say the word on each picture together. It's my first memory of reading.
There were a couple of awesome dad-figures who I didn't see, but I feel that it is important to recognize tonight as well:
There is my own Grandpa Evans. This may sound weird, but I remember riding in my grandpa's huge truck when I was a little girl. It might have been his work truck, I'm not sure. He worked for the state highway department and sometimes drove a big orange truck, but he had a big truck of his own too with what I believe was a ram's head on the front that I would just stare at, mesmerized. I digress. I remember asking my grandpa about the lines that were painted on the road. I wanted to know what the dashed lines and the solid lines meant and why they were different colors. I remember my Grandpa patiently explaining them to me and even giving me a little quiz when I was done. After I passed he gave me a hug and said, "That's my girl." I couldn't have been more than 4 or 5 years old, and that meant the world to me.
My step-dad, Bob, is another great dad in my life. He and Dharia have always had a special relationship. One moment that I am thinking of tonight is when he and my mom stayed with us for Christmas Eve. Dharia sat on his lap and he read a Christmas book. She was SO happy and giggly, it was like she could NOT believe her stupid luck that her Papa Bob was going to stay the night at her house AND it was Christmas.
And finally, there is my own husband, who is Super Dad in my eyes. The memory that comes to mind right now is the first or second day home after leaving the hospital with AJ. I was a tired, miserable, hormonal mess, but my husband just seemed to be the rock of everlasting energy and patience. When I would try and fail, he would take over. When I stumbled down the stairs from a much-needed nap, I was shocked to see him with all three kids on his lap, looking as cool as a cucumber -- every one happy, clean and satisfied. Colby is my rock and without him, I wouldn't last one. single. day. This moment captures that feeling, as does this picture:
That's about all I have in me tonight. Dads are awesome. I feel so lucky to have so many amazing dad-type people in my life and my kids' lives. At least I got that punctuation right. I think.
Happy Father's Day, God! You are my heavenly Father, and I thank you for blessing me so richly with the earthly fathers in my life. They are an amazing group of guys. Thanks for all the memories I have with them and for the way they have shaped me into the person I am today. Thank you for the way they look out for me, just like you do. In your name I pray, Amen.
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