“He really was the greatest guy, so cool to talk to and always made you feel like he really cared.” I’ve heard my dad tell me some variation of this phrase approximately one thousand times in my life so far. He always says it with a smile on his face, too. It comes up whenever we are talking about his dad, who I unfortunately never had the chance to meet. I smile when my dad says this, too. I can’t help but imagine what it would have been like to know my Pop. But I also smile because I know this is exactly what I’m going to tell every person I meet if we happen to talk about my dad.
I am my father’s daughter through and through. Growing up I could have told you that he put the stars in the sky and argue you on that until passing out. Being called a daddy’s girl never seemed like it could be insulting because I was more than proud to follow him around and come places with me as well.
The thing that I admire so much about my dad is the way that he cares. He is a very funny man and can make a joke in any situation. Often times his comedy was his main way of expression, so you’d notice how much he cared through his actions that followed the silly moments.
My dad grew up playing baseball and hockey. So, when I was a youngster and enjoyed tee ball enough to want to play softball you bet he was pumped. Not only did he happily sign me up, he coached for every single season that I played until the schedules didn’t work out. Now that I am older and realize that jobs do actually require you to be around later than school does, I’ve learned how much time my dad took out of his own life to make mine more fun. He wanted to teach me this game that he loved (and learned to love from his own dad) and he wanted to be there to cheer me on and see my improvements each season. I never asked him to make practices, every single game, or host the end of season pool party but he did it all every single time and I bet he wouldn’t change a moment of it. He also coached basketball even though I was definitely not cut out for the court. He even lent a hand in coaching soccer, a game that he had never been around, simply because it was more time that got to spend with me and be part of my childhood.
But he was also supportive when he couldn’t be in on the action. The more graceful side of me loved to dance and so my parents let me spend hours upon hours in the studio as part of a competition team for the better part of my early years. Once February hit, every other weekend until July was a new competition in a new part of the Northeast. Five AM wake up calls and false eyelashes galore was never a deterrent for my dear old dad. After each performance I would rush from backstage and skip my pit stop in the dressing room, running down some corridor in tap shoes to find my dad who would inevitably scoop me up into a big hug and tell me his favorite part of the routine. He watched every single act, cheered at every single awards show, and was also the MVP when it came to surprises like stuffed animals, flowers, and late night French fries. But better than all that was how many times I would see only a handful of other fathers in the audience each weekend. I believed that I was the best dancer I could be since my dad was always there and always happy to see me doing something that I loved.
These days our time together isn’t spent scarfing down PB&J’s in the car between a try out and a dress rehearsal. Instead, they’re spent looking back on all of the fun we had together while I was growing up. We get to catch up over a few beers and talk about anything from politics to the Sox and their latest worst to first run, from housework on his to do list to pulling up a stand up act on YouTube. And through everything, he still truly cares. He always asks me how things are going with my new semi-adult life and remembers when I tell him about big things at work or why I am nervous about a doctor’s appointment. During particularly rough times in college I remember getting out of exams and checking my phone to see a smiley face and text of encouragement from him and that being infinitely better than anything else in that moment. He is the one guy that I know I can always count on the make me laugh, make me smile, give a dose of reality when needed, and will always care about me. It’s no wonder why so many people say that a father is his daughter’s first love. I could go on and on about why I look up to my dad, but instead I think I’ll keep it short and sweet: I have always wanted to be more like my dad and that won’t ever change. He is the most caring and genuine man I will ever know and I am grateful for all of the time, heart, effort, and fun he has brought to my life. He may not realize, but I still think that he put the stars in the sky.
