If you asked a casual observer to describe my dad, here are a few words they might use:
short
loud
likes to talk
karaoke
So all of these things are probably true. But who is he
really?
For starters, I've always been proud that he's the kind of person who's never quite fit the traditional male gender role in the home. He doesn't just help my mom in the kitchen—he's her equal counterpart in there. He genuinely enjoys cooking, especially for others. Once he even took a part-time job as a chef just because he was so interested in the culinary arts (and wearing that really cool chef's uniform, I suspect). My memories of Thanksgiving include seeing him bustling around the kitchen with my mom and not having to take instructions on how to make the stuffing (his own special recipe) or how to slice the green beans (he has excellent knife skills) or how much milk to add to the mashed potatoes. He can also bake the best pan de sal that I've ever tasted.
He made my lunch everyday when I was little (including the several weeks in a row that I would eat only tuna salad). Whenever he packed sandwiches he was always careful to put the tomatoes in a separate container so they wouldn't make the bread soggy. He took the time to slice the sandwiches into perfect triangles that were wrapped tightly in plastic wrap and then placed in a sandwich bag so they wouldn't fall apart in transit.
My dad also plays the piano. For some reason, I think that many people who have never heard him play before are surprised by this. He's very good, though.
Another thing I admire about my dad is that he knows how to sew. When he was in the Air Force, he always sewed the various patches onto his own uniforms. He was very precise about this. And then one time, when I was in 9th grade, I had to make a large cloth banner depicting a quote from
Romeo and Juliet. This was before I knew how to thread a sewing machine. I arranged the pre-cut letters and the decorative stars, and he stayed up late and appliqued every single one of those things onto the background fabric. Any other dad probably would've said, "Here's the Elmer's glue. Have at it."
Now that I think about it, he probably helped me get more As in school than I give him credit for. Like the time in 7th grade when I had to make an illustrated timeline of the life of George B. McClellan, a major general in the U.S. Army during the Civil War. My dad, who is quite the artist and perfectionist, not only drew a nice little portrait of the guy, but also showed me how to make sure that all of the lettering on the poster was perfectly aligned. Now you know where I got all of my OCD tendencies (like not being able to sleep until I know that all the doors and windows are locked, though I probably won't build a wooden security contraption over the back of the front door anytime soon).
There was a time in college when I moved off campus and had to walk several blocks to get to class, and the one piece of advice he gave me was, "Don't forget to look both ways before you cross the street." I usually tell this story to illustrate the idea that even though I'm a fully-grown adult, I'm still a child in his eyes. That may be so, but I think I finally get where he's coming from. I'm pretty sure that the feeling that compelled him to stay up until 2 in the morning until I got home from a concert or insisted that I sneak a cell phone into girls' camp "in case of emergency" is similar to the feeling I get when I internally freak out when TJ hops on his scooter to go to work every morning because I'm afraid he'll get pummeled by some trucker. It's not that my dad doesn't trust me to make the right decisions or take care of myself, but that he loves me in such as way that he hates the thought of me getting hurt. Instead of getting irritated, I probably could've shown more appreciation for those sentiments.
Anyway, all of this just to say that I love my dad, who underneath his loud, karaoke-loving ways, is probably one of the most talented, caring, and unselfish people that I know. He not only gives much to our family, but always strives to lift up in some way anybody he meets.
So here's to Dad. Happy birthday!
