My father’s name was George. In his youth, he was strapping, dashing and charismatic.
He got the girl of his dreams, a hot dish named Ella.
They had three kids, of which I am the third, alas the baby. Was I spoiled being the youngest? Maybe. Was I a daddy’s girl?
He was the good cop to mom’s bad cop, coming in and holding me until the body-wracking sobs slowly calmed. He taught me how to ride a bike, and let me play outside when I should have been practicing piano. He made the food I had to clear off my plate disappear like magic.
He could construct practically anything from any material, and though it took me a while to finally catch on; he was the expert gift-wrapping elf for Santa (putting all department store wrapping to shame; to shame.)
To me, there wasn’t a fact he didn’t know, or a joke he wouldn’t tell. Even up to his last day on earth, he was generous, kind, and always had polished shoes! Anyone who knew him, would hear his common catchphrase,
“Thank you kindly”
My dad was my hero, my everything. He took such good care of me.
In honor of my dad, George, I treated and cared for myself today.
A stroll through the beautiful Arboretum, then Japanese Garden, followed by staking out a corner slice of shade to relax and read.
The gentle breeze on my face was heavenly. Clear blue sky, sunshine, vibrant colors all around me, folks making their own memories, while the birds sang their joy.
Hmmm, maybe heaven was involved in the orchestration of this magnificent day after all.
For that daddy, and all the beautiful memories I will cherish forever,
Thank you kindly.