For Dad

It was on June 19th, 1910 that Father's Day was first celebrated in Spokane, WA.  That was a hundred years ago. The tradition lives on and many will honor their father today with a card, a gift, lunch, dinner, good wishes. There will be some who will celebrate other fathers they know as they remember their own father who is no longer with them.  There will be new memories made and old memories relived.  I will be one of those who celebrates my brother's fatherhood, as I remember my own Dad.    

My father's life ended almost 25 years ago in November.  After he passed on, we realized just how sick he was.  He knew it too, but didn't really share with us what he was going through, probably because he didn't want to burden us with details he thought might scare us.  I wish he did though, because then I would have made it a point to make sure to say words that were left unsaid.  As far back as I can remember, my father was in and out of hospital all the time.  That is why I was not prepared for him being taken to the hospital for the last time, never to come back.  He was only 57.  I didn't get to say goodbye.  I don't even remember what my father's last words were to me

My father was a complicated man.  My relationship with him was as complicated.  But as strained as our relationship was toward the end, I do have many good memories of my father that I cherish.  The best I can do today is to honor him by sharing these memories so everyone would know what a good man my father was.  One thing that I know from what my mother has told me, is that when I was a baby I loved to fall asleep to my father's voice singing to me.  What I do remember going back to the age of 3 or 4 was that in Dad's eyes I could do no wrong.  As I remember it, my mother was the disciplinarian.  I don't remember my father ever being mad at me until later in life. 

My father and mother had the traditional Indian arranged marriage.  They met for the first time a few days before their wedding.  You'd never know it from seeing the relationship they had with each other.  They were always holding hands, so much in love until the very end.  Watching them I knew that no matter how bad things got, no matter how much they fought, they would somehow make up and everything would be right with the world again.  It was nice to have that kind of security growing up, even though it was very embarrassing through my teen years watching them be so affectionate toward one another.

I remember how talented my father was.  He had a great singing voice, a booming loud baritone which he could turn into a gentle, soothing tune when necessary.  But not many people knew this, because my father chose to keep his vocal talent to himself, singing only in the shower.  Or singing to his baby girl.  My father also loved to paint.  He painted beautiful pictures.  My father loved to cook, oh man did he love to cook!  He made complicated food, with meticulous attention to detail.  He once made a custard apple ice cream.  It took hours to remove the large black seeds from the sticky, pulpy fruit, but the end result was absolutely worth the effort.  Every Christmas season saw many wonderful treats made with love by him.  During the holiday season in 1984 my father baked the best Stollen ever.  I watched him knead the dough, fold in raisins and almonds, roll it into shape, dust it with powdered sugar and bake it to a rich brown loaf.  I knew then that someday I wanted to be able to bake as well as he did.  When he wasn't painting or cooking, my father loved to watch movies.  He also loved to read comic books.  This is what made him a cool Dad.  While my friends were chided by their own fathers for watching mindless movies and reading drivel, my father took us to movies and let us read comic books.  My father recognized my love for cooking and encouraged me to develop my penchant for it.  He was always pushing me to step out into the world and expand my horizons.

When I was 11, my father took us to lunch after church one Sunday afternoon. My father told my brother and I that we could order anything we wanted from the menu.  I remember that was the first time that we were given that privilege.  I remember ordering a whole chicken that we split four ways.  We had never done that before.  Of course, that's not all we ordered, but that's the part I remember.  After we were done with lunch, we each ordered a triple sundae for dessert.  It was the best lunch I had ever been to or ever had.  Ever. That same year there was an activity at school I will remember forever.  One of our assignments was to convert a story we read into a little skit that we would perform on stage for our parents.  I wrote and directed my story-skit and our team went home with the honor of being the best skit among 7 others.  My father was there to watch my success.  He was so proud of me that he took us all out to dinner that night.  Dad made sure to tell me over and over again what a good job I had done on the skit.  

My father wasn't the kind of person to express emotion.  I didn't know how to react when I saw him him cry for the first time, when my mother's brother passed away very suddenly and under very tragic circumstances.  The only other time I saw my father shed a tear was when he was saying goodbye to me when I was getting on a plane to go away to college.  This was during the turbulent time in our relationship.  I can't begin to imagine what he must have been thinking about me that would cause him to be so emotional.  All I can think is that no matter how much we disagreed, I would always be his only daughter.  

I never did get to tell my father how much I loved him or how much he meant to me.  It's too bad that he isn't here now so I can let him know.  

I love you Daddy, and I miss you.  This blog is dedicated to you.

In loving memory of John Powell (December 2nd, 1927 to November 7th, 1985)