Daddy: The Magic Word

I actually have a lot of guy friends who are dads, most have at least one little girl.

For them, and in memory of my Dad, here are some of memories of things he taught me:

Everyone should know how to check their oil and change a tire, boy or girl.

My dad explained, "I hated when my father said, 'because I said so,' so I won't do it to you kids." He always gave a reason for all his decisions. Sometimes 100 times over to the minutest details, but damnit, there was a reason!

Same went for stuff we needed to learn. Libraries were regular visits. So was polling Mom's Avon customers and his friends at work for stuff he didn't know. (You new dads are lucky: You have Google!)

"I may not always be right, but I'm never wrong." Just because. Kids get irony better than you think.

"I can be mean, y'know." Also, just 'cuz. Kids also get that sometimes you have to stick to your guns.

If you want something, build it. If you want something that will last 30+ years and impress your son and engineer son-in-law, learn how to build it right.

If you want something done right, learn how to do it right, do it better, and have a kid around who will ask the stupid questions you never thought of.

Also, have lots of books from different publishers on fixing cars. Just because it's in a book doesn't mean its right. (We all know that goes for Internet sources, too.)

Watch TV with your kids. Answer their questions during commercial breaks. Make sure Mom is available for certain questions - often from daughters - and/or back-up.

Let your kids share your excitement about new technology, gadgets, and scientific theories.

Have an agreement with Mom that you will always present a unified front, even if you don't agree on the punishment or crime. (My parents actually told me they did this.)

Openly question the information on TV, in books, or in any media - and encourage conversation about what you question.

Invest in a protective cup while playing with children who either have not yet injured their testicles or do not have testicles. (Just trust me on this one…)

Shin guards are also a good idea.

Teach your kids to respect the back and spine early - for all your health.

If your kid can walk, there's chores s/he can do and be responsible for. Respectful child labor is less work for you and promotes good work ethic.

Make your kids - boys and girls - bait their own hooks in fishing. Being squeamish over wiggling worms is pointless.

Find creative ways to clarify that it's good to ask for help when one needs it but not when one is lazy. Smart kids will test this line with frequency. (I learned reflective questioning at a VERY early age… "Well, what is it specifically that you need help with? What is it you don't know that is keeping you from…?")

Believe with all your heart that you kid really can do anything she or he wants to, and be willing to help learn all the steps to achieve that goal. (In my stint of wanting to be a lawyer, Dad set me up to talk with lawyers and ask them lots of questions. I realized I didn't want to be a lawyer, so we moved onto writing…)

Insist your child have a job as early as possible and set limits of what you are willing to pay for. Having one's own money is deeply empowering and also deeply humbling. My parents allowed me one new outfit each school year, and anything beyond that, I had to pay for myself. Granted, this wasn't "just" a Dad thing, but he was key in making it clear that a girl needs to be independent and self-sufficient - and that I had a right to any job I wanted.

Oh, and never let your girl take any crap from any boy. Let her know she's got the right, power, and responsibility to protect the health and safety of her body, mind, and soul. It was nice to know that if things went beyond my control, my Dad could still kick ass; but it was better to know how to do it - and that I should be able to do it - myself.

What are your favorite Dad memories that made you who you are? Who says Father's Day is only on Sunday?

Thanks Dads all over!

Happy Birthday in Heaven

This was Dad's first birthday in Heaven. Of course, us all down here had to do our own thing.

I drove out to Springfield, and Mom & I stopped at St. Stanislaus Cemetery. We dropped flowers on her parents, Bachi & Jaju for me, then stopped by Dad's grave and dropped flowers there. A carnation that Mom gave to me, and a rose from her. It was overgrown with crab grass and weeds, so I yanked it out with a fervor. Mom said I was throwing the crap as far as 6 feet away. I didn't notice; I wanted it clean. I used a swatch of the dry crab grass like a broom to whisk away all the dirt and debris from his flat, bronze military marker. Mom said to be careful; my brother had cut his fingers on the lettering last time he cleaned it off. I didn't cut myself - a miracle considering the klutz I am.

In retrospect, I should have taken a picture; it was the first time I saw the grave with the stone.

I remember taking pictures of other people's stones when Mom was looking for the right one for Dad.

I remember taking pictures of "pretty" stones and memorable stones I come across in other cemeteries - and stones that might promise ghost pictures.

I have a picture of Dad in the casket… it's a strange tradition in my family, pictures of people in the casket. My brother finds it creepy and disturbing, but my mother & I find it… I don't know… important. I don't know the feeling I associate with it, but I still have the picture somewhat handy. Along with this nice picture of him on my brother's birthday.

I will never forget… two years ago I forgot to call him on his birthday. I was at Dragon*Con, as it usually falls on his birthday. I'd promised I'd call - and I was so busy that I forgot. He was hurt and "joked" about it for a year afterward.

I made damn sure to remember to call him last birthday.

Even thought I had no idea he'd have died three days later.

When I was in Montreal, I made a stop at St. Joseph's Oratory. When I was 14 and my brother was 9 or 10, we visited there and Ste-Anne-de-Beaupre… St. Anne's was further out of the way than I could reasonably drive, but St. Joseph's is right in Montreal.

When we visited, Mom had me kneel in front of the main chapel altar, kiss the relic (a glass-encased piece of cloth), and light a candle that St. Joseph might help me find a wonderful husband.

The prayer came true.

St. Joseph is the patron of good husbands and good fathers and good workers… and many important things.

I dropped a good amount of change throughout the candle chapels for different things. At the main chapel - a tower of red and white candles ending at the foot of the larger-than-life father of Jesus - white spelling that Joseph was also the Church protector amongst the red, I lit four candles. One was separate, my personal thank-you. Then I lit three together. A white one for mom, and two red ones for my brother and me. I remembered to take a picture. I wanted to show Mom & my brother.

Today, after Mom & I visited the cemetery, the rest of the day carried on as normal. We went to lunch, we returned home for her to go over her endless "list" and for me to finagle endlessly on a dying computer that it might work just until we convince her to get a new one, and we caught up on news & family & neighborhood gossip.

I'll be at Dragon*Con on the day he had died. Fortunately, my brother will be home with Mom.

They will probably have a mostly normal day too.

I bought them both oil from the candles at St. Joseph's Oratory, and some for me, even though I still have mine from over 15 years ago when all four of us wandered the basilica's halls and said prayers for other family members, living and dead. Dad, ever intrigued by the supernatural present in real life, pointed out all the old crutches hanging on the walls. Proof that miracles happen, that there's a power beyond what we could ever understand. Proof of God.

Even at my most cynical, I can still remember the awe I shared with my parents, including my logical Dad who would constantly research, of this perfect certainty.

Love you, Daddy. Happy Birthday. I'm certain you can hear me.