My Dad

I was born at 12:35 am on January 22nd, literally JUST in time to have my own birthday. My entire life my relationship with my father has been shaped by the fact that I narrowly missed sharing his birthday (January 21st). In fact, had I been a boy, I would have most likely been Junior. Gender and birthday differences aside, I'm probably much more like him than most people would comfortably admit. I inherited his curly hair, almond-shaped eyes, singing voice, aversion to crowds, bossiness, ability to recall random facts at the drop of a hat, love of books, love of travel, love of geneology, knowitallness, loneliness, independence, passion for religion... so much of me comes from that man.
I love my dad. I want to make that clear. I, in fact, ADORE my dad. He looms in my mind as a larger than life person- always quick with a laugh, a corny joke, an obscure historical fact, or the answer to most any question you care to pose. He is the smartest person I know. I mean that. As time goes on and I become more and more acutely aware of my own parents' humanity and limitations, his brilliance (much like my mother's generosity) has never been tarnished in my mind.
My dad has not had an easy life. The last 8 years have been especially difficult for him. I won't go into the details, but due to his own poor choices and the poor choices of others, there has been a non-stop stream of drama in his life. I won't make excuses for him. He is who he is.
Regardless, he is my father. My father. He always seemed to give me the best he had. Sometimes that hasn't been much. At other times, it has been copious amounts of attention and love. For some reason beyond the grasp of my understanding I was the one he confided in. The one he went on walks with. The one he sat through parent teacher conference for. The one he drove across town for. The one he took with him.
Maybe it's because he sensed how much I really needed him. Maybe it was all in my mind... Maybe I like it better that way.
About a year ago, dad started talking about making the big move to Utah to get away from the drama and get closer to family. Of his 7 living children, 4 of us now live within 40 minutes of each other. 6 of his 13 Grandkids are here. All of his living siblings live within a few hours drive of Salt Lake. He has innumerable cousins, nieces, nephews, and friends. I urged him. I bribed him. I practically begged him to come. I was not the only one. I have, for years, had a reoccurring nightmare that I get a phone call in the middle of the night from some man with a slow Texas drawl saying my dad has passed away alone in his apartment. I hate that dream.
I was so glad that on New Year's Eve, he and my baby brother loaded up his U-Haul and made the arduous drive from Fort Worth to Salt Lake.
This year, we had a joint birthday party at my house.
Dad is a private sort of guy when he's not serving as Master of Ceremonies. He's not the kind of person to pick up the phone and just call you to check in. In fact, in my entire life I can probably count on one hand the number of non-business related phone calls I've received from him.  We trade calls on birthdays, Father's Day, Christmas... I send cards. He sends an occasional picture, and his copies of the family history. Luis's mom and dad call him every week, just to chat. My dad... not so much. So I guess I didn't realize how much I'd missed him until he was suddenly here. Dad and me? We're like that. We both live in our own little worlds.
Tonight he dropped by, unannounced. He was in Provo helping a friend draw up some papers for a legal matter. He thought he'd stop by on his way home. He stayed for dinner.
I cannot say in words how happy it makes me, after all this time, to have my dad living so close to my home. I mean, what can I say? I guess I've always been a bit of a Daddy's Girl.

Dad, Me, and Lu in 2003