My Dad

Dear Erica,

It was 15 years ago today that my dad died. I remember the day perfectly. I was rehearsing a silly one act play called Drive-In with my friends in Rhonda Collins' basement. About half way through the rehearsal, I got this funny feeling. Something inside of me relaxed and I knew that he was no longer with us. It was not long after this feeling took over that my Auntie Donna turned up at the door with the news. I remember not being very sad at the time. Many times I have felt guilty for not feeling much at all, but looking back, I was only 14 so how was I supposed to react? We didn't have much in common and most of the time I tried to avoid him when he was in the house anyway. I suppose that's why I stayed in my bedroom and turned my attention to TV sitcoms.

I'm turning 30 in 6 days, so very soon I will have been on this planet without him longer than I ever was with him. Each passing day the memories fade a little bit more, but time has a way of making the good memories stick around longer than the bad ones. I remember him being very stressed most of the time and sometimes that would result in tense meals around the dinner table or long evenings of picking rocks in the field. Let me tell you, picking rocks is not fun. Neither is an argument about balancing plates on top of ketchup bottles. But it's the good times that remind me how much he must of loved us all.

He never said he loved me, but our Sunday mornings at the lake showed me that he did. I could not have been more than 5 or 6, but he would wake me up at the crack of dawn every single Sunday to whisk me into Carlyle for breakfast at the Skyline. He always let me have chocolate milk, even though I was allergic. He would slather peanut butter on my toast. Then he would take me for a drive around the village, hitting all of the yard sales we could find. We always came back with a treasure. I'm sure most of them are still hiding in drawers somewhere in the cabin.

Then there was our bedtime ritual, where my brother and I would get out of the tub, slick our hair back and get into our jammies. Before we came into the living room to say good night, he would have to guess what characters we were wearing before we rushed to his chair and jumped into his lap. He may have been an intimidating business man, but he also knew the importance of He-Man and Popple pajamas.

But my best memories of my dad are on Christmas morning. My mom always worked herself to the bone, and continues to do so, making sure everyone has the best Christmas possible. I feel so lucky to have had 29 glorious December 25ths so far, thanks to the most wonderful woman I know. I'm not completely sure because I was so little, but I always got the feeling that dad got a little giddy on Christmas morning as well. One year it snowed something terrible, but instead of growling at us to get out the shovels, he told me that we should leave it because Santa preferred to park his sleigh on the snow. There was just something so relaxed about him on those mornings, sitting on the couch with the rest of us instead of his usual perch on the recliner. Perhaps it's because there were no phones to answer, rigs to move or fields to cultivate. Who knows, maybe it was the trays upon trays of peanuts and chocolate. But I think it was the one day he could sit back, relax and realize what an amazing family he had. He worked so hard the other 364 days of the year to provide for us all and this was his time set aside to enjoy it. Even if that's not the case, that's how I choose to remember it. Because provide he did. And well, at that. I wouldn't be where I am today had it not been for him.

Every morning when I glance in the mirror I find myself looking more and more like him. The hair is going, the wrinkles are coming and if I had a mustache it would be many different shades of brown and red. I'm also a perfectionist and hate when people are late. I don't understand why people do the bare minimum when they are capable of more. I get angry at the stupidest things sometimes and curse him for giving me his temper. But I also still enjoy peanut butter on my toast. Whenever I get into my pajamas, I ask him to guess what I'm wearing. And on Christmas morning, I take a look around and thank my lucky stars for having the family I do. And the father I had. Then I gorge on peanuts and chocolate!

Till next time,
Bradley