A MayDay Dad

There are so many versions of my dad, that I must write a separate post for each one. Today, thankfully, I will write about the dad of this weekend. This version was clear-headed, a tad grumpy, a lot fatherly, a bit humble, and the one I miss most of all. I think he was drug-free, and he was as sweet as can be. I miss him so much.


Dad lives alone. He has a roommate, technically. But that guy never comes home, so 360 days a year, my dad lives alone. He does not work. He is disabled. He is lonely, broke, depressed. He occupies his time with the newspaper, cleaning, crosswords and thriftshopping. He is so smart, but it is not employed in a useful manner. So when I go home, he babies me. Makes up the room for me, cooks me dinner.

Saturday night, he read that there was a Stevie Nicks tribute night at a pub in Portland. We went. How much fun was that? Me and dad, in a little pub filled with chilled out portlanders, all having a good time. Dad chatting up a lady. Joking with me, singing along to some Fleetwood Mac. He seemed comfortable and ready to interact with other people, which is more and more rare for him and his bruised ego. I think he is pleased to parade me around, as the lawyer daughter. Usually that embarasses me, but as i come to realize that that is part of his identity is what I am, and who I am, I overlook my pride and succumb to his. And dammit, it should be his. He made me, he raised me, he disciplined me, he gave me some trials and tribulations... and they made me stronger. He taught me to laugh at myself and be proud of myself. Dad has always said there is nothing more important than people that you love. No matter what. He made me what I am, and I am so grateful.

As I grew up, it was me and him, always together. I went everywhere he did. He told me everything he was feeling and he listened to me. We have a million happy memories, and our fair share of ugly ones. But when he is happy and smiles,and we are out and about together, I am Daddy's girl again.

I am so blessed with my dad. YES, there are alot of challenges being the only daughter of a man with a million mental and physical ailments, a temper, and a slight heroin addiction, but I wouldn't change him a bit. He makes me so proud everyday. How privileged am I to be able to pick up my phone and whine and vent to my dad about any damn thing? I mean who else is ready on stand-by to be any part of my life I will allow? No one. And what a sweet security blanket that is! Nobody messes with a girl like me, whose dad will hunt you down and make you beg for mercy should the need arise?

He dances, he laughs. He tells off color jokes, he spouts off wacky opinions all the time. He's horrible with laundry (shrinks wardrobes in hours) and never takes no for an answer, but a better heart on this earth you will not find. He taught me selflessness and compassion.

Anyway, I am thankful for a dad who I listen to cracking up in his room late at night as he watches old episodes of Seinfield, who sings along to every song on the radio, who cuts out newspaper articles that he thinks I should read, who recycles candles by melting them on the stove, who is convinced that every single woman in tha bar is attracted to him, and who loves me as much as any dad has ever loved his only daughter. Ever.