Dear Dad, You Are Rad (Thoughts About My Father)

You took me to my first concert when I was nine years old.  Debbie Gibson, Cal Expo Auditorium.  You stood by me in that crowd of screaming young girls, listening to 2+ hours of cheesy pop music.  I cried when she came out on stage in her felt bowler-style hat that perfectly matched my own.  I loved every moment of that night.  Thank you for taking me.

You also took me to my first ballet, the Sacramento Ballet's production of Ballet Stars of Moscow.  I think that we sat in the very last row of the highest balcony in the theater.  I didn't care.  I was mesmerized and felt so lucky to share such a special little slice of one-on-one time with you.

I think of you every time I eat a fresh peach.  Do you know why?  Because I, like you, prefer peaches with the skin on, whereas many people prefer them peeled.  We have talked many times over the years about enjoying the fuzzy, chewy texture, such a lovely contrast to the juicy center.  In our family, we are alone on this, and I've always liked that.  I also often think of you when drinking coffee or eating peanut butter, dried apricots, or spicy food, for similar reasons.

I can't possibly write about memories of you without bringing up our annual father/daughter camping trip.  Oh, such wonderful memories!  Maggie and I slyly wandering off upon arrival, leaving you and Jess to set up camp.  The way the three of us would fight and play and act like dorks and just generally behave in a manner which inspired you to say, "Quit gooshin' around!"  Gooshin.  I love that made-up word of yours.  I am certain we were a handful during those early camping trips, but I am also certain that you loved it anyway.  And no matter what, we could always count on two things during the drive home: stopping for lunch at a "greasy spoon" and hearing you say, "You know what?  You guys are alright."  That will never get old.

During our years of camping together, I learned many things from you, including this: the steep climb up a mountain can be very, very tough, but the view from the top makes it all worth it.  Oh, Dad, thank you for forcing me to endure all of those long, arduous hikes (and for putting up with all of my whining!).  I love the fact that my name is at the top of Mount Lassen and, more importantly, I now really truly enjoy hiking.  I look forward to tackling Lassen again someday, this time with a much better attitude.  And while we're at it, how 'bout finally finishing Castle Crags?  Bring it on.

"If you have to force it, you're not doing it right."  I can't tell you how many times I heard you say that growing up, usually in response to me trying to force some inanimate object to do my will, often using my teeth.  This phrase has stuck with me; it's meaning has deepened with age.  I now see it as holding far more wisdom than I realized when I was young.  It can be applied to relationships of all kinds, particularly those I have with my husband and children and it can be applied to the process of fulfilling life goals.  When I am frustrated, unhappy with a person or circumstance, I hear your voice in my head.  More often than not, the frustration I am experiencing is a direct result of my resistance to that person or circumstance, my desire to "force" things to be my way.  I wonder if you realized, back then, the wisdom in those words.  Either way, I thank you for saying them to me and I guarantee I will be repeating them to my children.

I love you, Dad.  Thank you for being you and for being there for me.
Happy Father's Day!

Jammies

There are times, as a parent,
that I need to
let go of reason and
just be okay
with things like

putting you to bed

with jam

on your face.

Because you are tired
beyond reason
and absolutely
adamant
that I not
wipe you clean.

What's the worst
that could happen?
A purple stain left
on your pillow case?

I think we'll all survive.

Besides,
I too am tired
and would rather not fight
before bed.

Kid Feet

Your feet are no longer
the soft, chubby feet
of a baby.

The soles are toughened,
the skin thick
and protective:
kid feet.

Play jump run
dance skip climb
fall and scrape
and get back up again
for more.

These feet
refuse sneakers,
delight in galoshes,
and tolerate sandals,
but prefer to be free,
wearing nothing at all.

I love these feet,
kiss them, sniff them,
wiggle their toes.

I warm them
when they are cold,
wash them when dirty,
love every moment with these
beautiful kid feet.

These feet will grow...
play jump run
dance skip climb
explore and
someday leave
this home.

I do so hope
they return
often.