I was always sure that Dad enjoyed being a parent. He loved me and he loved my brother. Dad and I really were on the same wavelength. We understood each other on a deeper level. When I was an adult he confirmed this for me by acknowledging that we had been friends for a long time. Note the use of the word "friend" over Dad and daughter. He saw us as equals...joint survivors and support for each other.
One thing Dad did for me when I was a child was to help me understand and learn to navigate in our family. He would explain things to me as early as third grade about what was happening with Mom.
I always felt like he was there for me...no matter what. He was the one who picked me up off the gravel road in back of our house. A bunch of us were spying on a guy who appeared to be emptying his liquor bottles in a vacant lot across from our house. When everyone turned around, I fell and ended up with a mouth full of gravel. I remember him running out, picking me up and carrying me home over his shoulder as blood streamed down his white dress shirt.
I have so many memories that flash by as I write this. I think in memory of him and in honor of this first Father's Day without him, I will write about a memory of him each day this weekend.
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