I’m not really talking about Down syndrome today.
Today is my dad’s 85th birthday. 85 years. It’s pretty amazing.
I’m so much like my mother that I sometimes forget about how much I get from my dad as well: my love of the royal family, how I tap my fingers to the rythym of any song that’s playing, how I get so wrapped up in a book that I forget what else is going on around me. When I think about the parts of myself that I like the most, I find that so many of them are directly related back to him and it makes me happy that I share so many of his characteristics.
As I get older, I find that I’m able to give more value to the memories I have from my childhood. As I look back, I can see how that experience fit into the bigger picture of our lives and that’s when I’m most in awe of the kind of father that I grew up with, how really truly lucky we were. I was telling Jess about some of these things as we were driving home one day and I actually started to get a little overwhelmed because you need to remember something about this: my dad was 50 years old when I was born. At a time when most people are starting to look forward to retiring, he had a newborn, and it wasn’t until we were older that we started to notice how much older he was than other fathers, but only in age; you would never have known it from how quickly he kept up with all of us. He was our personal chauffer for years: from school, to work, from swim meets to band practices and I rarely heard him complain. And it wsn’t just for us – our friends or the kids that my mom babysat for, we could all count on him to get us where we needed to be, even if it meant picking me up from work at 6:30pm to get to a 7pm band rehearsal and then picking me up at 9pm when it was over. Because these things were important to us, they became important to him. One of my fondest memories is from a 2 week camping trip our family took the summer between grades 7 and 8. We had driven into the States, and were camping just outside Buffalo but I had a swim meet on the Thursday afternoon. This wasn’t a “real” swim meet, but it felt real to me and I wanted desperately to be there. I have no idea what happened behind the scenes – which parent convinced which parent but in the end, my dad and I got into the car and he drove me from Buffalo to Etobicoke and all the way back again for a meet that lasted no longer than 3 hours. For the rest of my life, that will be the very definition of love.
But there are so many other moments – more than I can even begin to tell you about without getting over-emotional. How do I pick between which moments are highlighted: it is when I broke up with my boyfriend in university and after I called him at 2am, he drove all the way to Peterborough the next morning so that I could come home for a few days? Is it how, when I sat in his car crying after I walked away from my marriage, he just hugged me and told me that everything really would be okay? It is when I told him that I was in love with a woman that he just looked at me and said, “okay” and welcomed Jess into our lives? Is it how I would climb out of the pool after winning (or not winning) a race and see that he was in the stands after a day at work? Or is it how he still tries to find the things that he think will make you happy: a drum made of containers and duct tape for Lily, mint-chocolate patties for everyone, getting down on the floor to play with the train that goes around the Christmas tree.
When your parents are older, it’s hard not to think about the future – about how long you may have with them, about what parts of your life they may not be around for. When Lily first came home, I remember being so grateful that he was still around – that he would actually get to know my daughter and watching them together still makes my heart swell. I try not to take those moments for granted, but also not focus on what the future may bring. Because really, life has given me 35 years with the most incredible father and grandfather, and, if everything goes according to plan (his plan that is), I have at least another 15 years before he will get shot by a jealous husband (jealous because his wife has fallen in love with my dashing 100 year old father). That’s 15 more years to spend with one of the most amazing men I know – the one I am so grateful for every single day.
So happy birthday Daddy. Here’s to (at least) 15 more. Thank you for everything that you are, everything you have taught me, and everything you have given me to become the person I am today. I am so proud to be your daughter.
