Remembering Dad

Father's Day came and went again this year with that hurtful stab I have felt every year for the last eight years since my dad passed away. Even after all that time, just thinking about my dad, even just writing these words, brings tears to my eyes.

I was one of those lucky kids who had a fairly idylic childhood. My parents were married for 40 years and seemed to get along just fine. We lived in a nice house in a nice town. We kids played sports and were cheerleaders, and Dad never missed a game or event. It was a great time in my life.

As a kid I was definitely a Daddy's Girl. I remember crawling up in his lap to snuggle whenever he played "Ramblin' Rose" by Nat King Cole. That was "our song." I also remember when he brought home a kitten when I was five. It had been born at the factory he managed, and he brought it home under his suit jacket. I remember him bending down in the living room trying to get it to come out of his coat. We squealed and giggled in delight, and we loved that kitten for the next 17 years. I think Scamper finally died about the time I graduated from college. Dad was the one who told me -- long distance on the phone. I think we even cried together over it.

My dad was really good looking. He had jet black hair and soft blue eyes. He was tall and handsome with a deep voice. He was serious in his younger years while he was building his career and raising kids. I remember my friends, particularly boy friends, being afraid of him. I'd always tell them, "He's really nice," and he was, but he could definitely be intimidating.

When I was in junior high and started to date, I gave my dad a lot of heartburn. I remember one boy I met at the community swimming pool one afternoon who was brave enough to come to my house and ring the bell that night. He brought a friend, but when my dad answered the door and asked them gruffly what they wanted, they both ran away. They came back, eventually, but they were not the last boys to be scared of my dad.

In high school I started hanging around with a pretty wild crowd. It was, after all, the 1970s, before Nancy Reagan's "Just Say No," and we were living in Iowa where there wasn't much to do but hang out with friends and party a little. My dad and mom always gave us pretty strict curfews, and since I was younger than most of my friends and was just about the last one to get my driver's license, I often couldn't get home on time. I got grounded a lot, but I usually was able to sweet talk my way out of it when the next "outing" came along. In hindsight, my dad was strict, but soft at the same time.

I remember learning not to talk to my dad when he was balancing the checkbook, but I also learned that if I asked for $10, he'd give me $15. He was generous that way. I always had new outfits for the school dances from the best stores, and we played golf as a family at the country club on Sunday afternoons. Dad didn't like that I flirted with the grounds keepers at the Club. I think he would have preferred if I dated the members, not the lawn crew. But, you know how teenagers can be.

When the time came for me to go away to college, my parent's fairly insisted that I join a sorority. Dad had been a fraternity man at Purdue and all his sisters and sister-in-laws had been in sororities. I obliged and became a Zeta. I have many fond memories of Dad coming to Mizzou for Father's Weekends and going to football games with me. I even remember him playing quarters with my friends and I. By then he had softened a lot, and he liked to tease my friends. I remember one time during my senior year of college when Dad came up to visit during a football weekend. We went out and partied pretty hard at the Deja Vu Disco with my friends. My girlfriends were telling me, "Your dad is really handsome." I remember being a little creeped out by that, but also very proud.

After I graduated from college I moved to Colorado -- 1000 miles away from my parents. I'd see Mom and Dad a couple times a year. We'd visit them in Texas and take houseboat vacations with the whole family at Lake Powell in Utah. When I gave birth to their first grandchild, Mom and Dad were there within a week. Dad always had a warm place in his heart for that first grandson, but he made room for the rest of the grandkids that followed shortly on his heels.

By the time my dad was diagnosed with cancer, he had seven grandkids and he was called both Grandpa by mine and "Daddy Bob" by others. When we'd all gather at the lake it was quite a brood, and I remember Dad working up the energy even when he didn't feel well to play with all the kids.

During the 18 months of his illness I managed to spend a lot of time with him. I'd fly to Texas as often as I could, and we spent a wonderful week together in Taos learning how to paint. My dad and I watched my beloved Broncos win their first superbowl together, and although he was very weak by then, I remember the tear he got in his eye when John Elway won the MVP. A couple weeks later, he passed away, and every day since then I've missed him dearly.

For those who read this who still are blessed enough to have their dads, I hope you know how very lucky you are. I've learned over the last eight years that no one -- not your husband, not your kids, not your mom -- no one can love you like your dad. And on the flip side, there's no one a little girl loves more than her daddy. That relationship can never be replaced.