Daddy's Little Girl

Dad was 84 years old ten years ago when he passed away, but I feel that I lost him long before then.Throughout his later years he battled Parkinson's disease, as well as numerous strokes. These physical challenges caused the vital, rugged man to slowly slip away. At first he lost his motor skills, and eventually his ability to communicate. It was hell for him because he was such a physical man his whole life. In the photo to the left, Dad is 69 years young. I want to remember him like this...a strong, healthy and happy man.

He worked for thirty years in the rubber factory in the town in which we grew up. He lined railroad tank cars with rubber so they could transport chemicals. But that was just his day job! He was constantly doing work for people in town...he built garages, porches and sheds. He did painting, electrical, roofing and plumbing work as well, all freelance.

Just after he and Mom got married, he single-handedly built our family home! It started out as a small Cape Cod and grew right along with the family! By the time I came along...at the end of the line in our family of seven children, it was all finished. He had added the second floor and built a humongous room for my five older sisters (we always called it the "dormitory") and a fabulous room room for my brother at the other end of the hall with bookshelves built into the dormers. The dormitory sported built-in dressing tables...they were so cool! By the time I came along, my oldest sister had moved out, so there was a vacant one at which I played and pretended!

He took care of that home himself, too. It seemed he was always painting. I think it was a continuous project...he just kept moving the ladder around the house, and by the time he got back to where he started, it was time start all over again! Dad also did the yard work...mowing, planting, pruning, landscaping... A few years after this photo of me smelling a peony as big as my face was taken, Dad took me around the yard and taught me the name of every single plant he'd planted. (For the record, that is the last photo ever taken of me in a bathing suit!) Oh, and see the Adirondack chair in the photo? Dad built it!

I feel that Dad and I always shared a special bond. As an older Dad, (he turned 50 the year I was born) I think he was more relaxed with me and more willing to include me in the things he was doing. And with five daughters, he wasn't about to treat us like fragile flowers...you learn to help, whatever needs doing! We always got along amiably...more like friends than Father and Daughter. It's fortunate I was a good kid, and very low maintenance! I really enjoyed his company...he was funny and easy-going with his family. Oh, I heard plenty of off-color words issuing from his workshop when things weren't going well on a project, but he was never cross with me. Only rarely did I see him lose patience with his grandchildren, some of whom were considerably less well-mannered than I.

We had fun all year 'round, Dad and me. He could even make snow-shoveling enjoyable! You'll notice that I had my own tools (that's my own kid-sized shovel) and was expected to use them! Here's me and the Snowlady Dad and I made. I don't know if you can tell from the photo, but she was rather well-endowed...that Dad!

Even his down-time was spent busily! Every Summer (until 1970) our family would go camping for a couple weeks at Fish Creek, in Upstate New York. It was carefree up there for a kid, but I know that camping is no walk in the woods! I vividly remember going with Dad in search of kindling to get the campfire started. As the photo to the right shows, I was going to Fish Creek long before I was able to help gather firewood!

The lake we camped on was gorgeous, with a dock at every campground. My older sisters got Dad a canoe for Christmas the year I was five years old. Dad was so excited! He even christened her...The Regina - for me... When July came along every year, Dad and I would be as excited about our canoeing adventures as anything else on our vacation. He called me the Captain, bought me an orange life jacket and a Captain's hat and taught me how to paddle. We paddled all over that lake! Here's a picture of me in the canoe with Mom looking on. While it is true that I have a fishing pole in my hand, I never caught a fish in Fish Creek...weird, huh?

It was excruciating for me to see Dad's abilities decline. Sadder still was to see how frustrating the experience was for him. Through the years he became more and more dependent on Mom for everything. Mom refused to send him to a nursing home...I think she needed to care for him. And I know that Dad would never have wanted to leave home to be cared for by strangers. He didn't even like to go to restaurants!

By the time I visited him for the last time, he was bedridden. He couldn't do anything for himself. I have had the emotionally sobering experience of feeding my father a jar of baby food. That same day, I took his hand in mine. Mom had prepared me for the fact that that he couldn't squeeze me back. But I felt Dad squeeze my hand that day...I know that he did....

They say you can't pick your parents. That's fine with me, though, because I'm happy with the luck of the draw. The dad I got is in big part responsible for the person I grew up to be, and I guess she's alright. He taught me to be a capable woman. He taught me there can be joy in work. He taught me my sense of humor. He taught me what it feels like to be the apple of someone's eye.

I am thankful for my Dad, and for the memories I have that keep him alive forever in my heart.

I love you, Dad. Thanks.