This is my dad, sitting across the table from me at Pearl Bakery in May, when he was out here on business and he flew me out to look for a place to live. (This was my step-mother's idea, and she should be acknowledged for it! Thank you, L.!!) In addition to being very practical and quite beneficial, in that we did indeed find us a place to live, it was a fun time to hang out with my dad, which, as a grown-up living her own life, I have less and less frequently. I met his colleagues, he met mine, we walked and drove around the city, ate lots of wonderful food and drank lots of even better wine. And talked. And talked and talked. In a way it reminded me of the trip we took to look at colleges when I was 17, during the hottest week of the summer, in my grandmother's old Toyota Corolla (because it--theoretically at least--had air conditioning). This was another trip about sending me off in the world.
My dad wrote me a note after that college trip in which he said that it's not every dad who is lucky enough to have a 17-year-old daughter with whom he enjoys spending time. I feel so lucky that my dad enjoys spending time with me. I am so lucky to have a dad who loves me and is proud of me and with whom I love spending time and talking and eating and drinking wine. I feel so lucky to have my dad, who, in a matriarchy of dramatic women, has been the voice of reason, a source of logic, a calming force, and a wonderful, strong father. Back in the hotel at night, back in May during the Portland visit, my dad was in the hotel bar, and I put on his shoes and walked around the room, like I did when I was little. I swear those shoes are just as big on me now as they were then. Was is it about fathers and daughters? In all of the roles I have, I'm so glad that one of them is Daddy's daughter.
Happy Father's Day, Daddy.
AAAAAAAAAAAAaaaaaaaaaawwwwwwwwwwww!!!!!!!!! Me, too!
ReplyDelete