When you lose a parent early in life I think it's only natural to grow twice as close to the one you have left. Of course, looking back at my early childhood I seem to remember being closer to my father even when my mother was still alive. There is no doubt that I was always Daddy's Little Girl. For some reason just the thought of anything domestic has always turned me off. I wanted nothing to do with being in the house and being anywhere near cooking or cleaning. Bleeck. Why would I do that when I could be cutting the grass, playing with tools, building, or fixing something with my father? I was just always more drawn to spending time with him and as a result, I still can't cook and hate cleaning, but I'm one of the most mechanically inclined chicks you ever want to meet.
My father was so patient and easy to be with. He loved taking the time to show me how to do something and back then I thought he was the smartest man in the world. He seemed to know everything and he could build or fix anything. It all intrigued me. I wanted to know how to take apart and rebuild a television. I wanted to learn how to drive the lawn tractor. I wanted to learn how to play an instrument. To this day the never-ending desire to learn new things burns within me. I think my father gave me that by constantly teaching me and constantly stressing the importance of education.
At my Dad's funeral the priest talked about how a little piece of him lives on in everyone who attended the service. I'm not quite sure that is true for most of my extended family, but for sure that is true for his immediate kin. We all seemed to get some very specific piece of him that will indeed live on. My nephew inherited my father's amazing musical talents. My brother inherited my father's quiet personality. I inherited just about every quirk he had (and thankfully his skinny genes!). There aren't many days in my life where I don't stop and marvel at how much influence my father has had on my life. He really has made me what I am today, in both positive and negative ways. It may even be scary how much I'm a little replica of him. For instance, I am constantly fighting off the urge to save some useless item because I may some day need it. My father never threw anything away for this very reason. You never know when you may need it. Sometimes it takes all my will to resist the urge and just throw things away. I hate wasting things, anything, be it material items, money, time, anything. I just plain don't like to waste and there is no doubt where that came from. Yes, I tend to eat the stale chocolate before opening the fresh stuff and I have this problem with saving things for another day. It's in my blood and as hard as I try I just can't fight it. Karlo lives by the saying, "Tomorrow never comes" (so in other words, "eat all the chocolate right this very minute), but I'm still stuck storing it away for another day.
I never ever let my gas tank go under 1/4 of a tank. OK, my Dad's rule was never let it go under 1/2. I modified it a bit, but it's because of him that I live by this rule. Every month when I pay off my credit card bill in full I remember my father's lessons on money. He taught me about finance charges and instilled the lesson about never EVER buying things that I couldn't afford. He taught me to always, always have an emergency stash of cash in the bank and always live within my means. I took these lessons to heart and to this day, I never ever carried a balance on my credit cards. I truly thank my father for these important lessons that have molded and formed the responsible adult I have become.
Here's something most people didn't know about my father . . . he exercised every day. And in the event that he splurged and ate too much one day he would purposefully skip a meal or two the next day to make up for it, not because he needed to worry about his weight, but just because he thought he 'should.' Does that sound like anybody you know? And yes, my nose constantly drips and I'm always freezing cold. Two peas, one pod.
I know my father was proud of me. I know this because he told me all the time. Listening to stories of my life brought true joy to his heart. He marveled at the places I've travelled to and the things that I've done. Sure I never did become the doctor that he groomed me to be, and I truly thought he wouldn't live through the heart-breaking news that I changed my career path . . . in hopes of becoming a photographer. I can only imagine the disappointment he felt way back then. But somehow I pulled through and made him proud. It wasn't until this year that I found myself spending much more time with him when I had the opportunity to show him some of my most prized photographs. Watching his reaction to them nearly brought tears to my eyes. He was actually moved by the beauty in my photos and for the first time I thought, "Wow, he's even impressed and proud of me as a photographer" - the one thing that I always felt was my biggest disappointment to him. He finally got to appreciate the burning creative desire inside of me.
I just wish my Dad could have seen all the instances when I would have made him proud. I wish he could have seen me at trade shows, acting as foreman of the booth building, when I have to direct 3 or 4 carpenters and show them how to get the job done. Or better yet, just grab the tools and do the job myself. There aren't many times that I pick up a hand tool, or power tool, or embark on a home improvement project when I don't think about my Dad and be thankful for all he's taught me. I'm sure that my life will go on and the memory of my father will live in me forever. The lessons he taught me are with me for good and I'll never stop being thankful for everything he did to make me what I am today.
1 comment:
Beautiful...
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