You’ve heard me talk about so many members of my family. I’ve written stories on my daughter, my grandsons, my current (and unfortunately former) loves, my siblings, and my Mom. You’ve seen me experiment with words in ways that are unique to only me in order to describe nature, love, lows, and…well….life. What you haven’t heard me talk about is my Dad.
My dad is my idol. My dad is my hero. My dad has loved me unconditionally for 45 years and now I want him to understand what that means to me.
I’ve always thought it incredible that we share a birthday, Dad. So much inside of you is reflected inside of me. Your compassion for people--we always tend to worry about others over ourselves. Your sense of humor—the absolute best. Your pride and stubbornness—that of a Taurus. And your never-ending love for music.
When I stop to write this and close my eyes, the memories of you seem so real and as if they only happened yesterday. I still picture you young, blonde-haired, mischievous blue eyes, with that incredible laugh. You live in my mind as a 25 year old behind Grandpa Lew’s guitar. I like you there. I know you are home behind that guitar. I see the way you sit, the way you close your eyes when you sing “This time you gave me a Mountain” and I see your hands. When I close my eyes, Dad I see the hands of a musician, but more so, of a father. Soft, loving, and always ready to hold me when I need you.
We’re not overly verbal about our love are we Daddy? Sure, we say “I love you” and “be careful” and all those loving things, but the deep stuff we don’t really discuss. But, you know what, Dad? I’ve been thinking about it, and I think we do. I think we always have. Just not in the same way as others. I think your love for me is in your lyrics. You have spent a lifetime comforting me with hugs of harmonies, kisses in keys and chords, and songs of sweetness. You and I have always talked Daddy. And I want you to know, Dad, that I’ve heard every word.
You’ve told me I will always be your baby girl every time you sing “Daddy’s Little Girl.” You’ve explained the hurt over losing Mom every time your sweet voice sings “This Time You Gave Me a Mountain.” You’ve showed me how much fun you are and I should always be when you change the words to songs (“The Keys Are in the Shithouse comes to mind!). You’ve shown me you believe in me by allowing me to help you write a song. Every strum of your guitar, every beautiful note on the steel pedal guitar, every word was heard Daddy. And I hope you’ve heard mine. I love you.
Thursday, March 24, 2011
Daddy
You’ve heard me talk about so many members of my family. I’ve written stories on my daughter, my grandsons, my current (and unfortunately former) loves, my siblings, and my Mom. You’ve seen me experiment with words in ways that are unique to only me in order to describe nature, love, lows, and…well….life. What you haven’t heard me talk about is my Dad.
My dad is my idol. My dad is my hero. My dad has loved me unconditionally for 45 years and now I want him to understand what that means to me.
I’ve always thought it incredible that we share a birthday, Dad. So much inside of you is reflected inside of me. Your compassion for people--we always tend to worry about others over ourselves. Your sense of humor—the absolute best. Your pride and stubbornness—that of a Taurus. And your never-ending love for music.
When I stop to write this and close my eyes, the memories of you seem so real and as if they only happened yesterday. I still picture you young, blonde-haired, mischievous blue eyes, with that incredible laugh. You live in my mind as a 25 year old behind Grandpa Lew’s guitar. I like you there. I know you are home behind that guitar. I see the way you sit, the way you close your eyes when you sing “This time you gave me a Mountain” and I see your hands. When I close my eyes, Dad I see the hands of a musician, but more so, of a father. Soft, loving, and always ready to hold me when I need you.
We’re not overly verbal about our love are we Daddy? Sure, we say “I love you” and “be careful” and all those loving things, but the deep stuff we don’t really discuss. But, you know what, Dad? I’ve been thinking about it, and I think we do. I think we always have. Just not in the same way as others. I think your love for me is in your lyrics. You have spent a lifetime comforting me with hugs of harmonies, kisses in keys and chords, and songs of sweetness. You and I have always talked Daddy. And I want you to know, Dad, that I’ve heard every word.
You’ve told me I will always be your baby girl every time you sing “Daddy’s Little Girl.” You’ve explained the hurt over losing Mom every time your sweet voice sings “This Time You Gave Me a Mountain.” You’ve showed me how much fun you are and I should always be when you change the words to songs (“The Keys Are in the Shithouse comes to mind!). You’ve shown me you believe in me by allowing me to help you write a song. Every strum of your guitar, every beautiful note on the steel pedal guitar, every word was heard Daddy. And I hope you’ve heard mine. I love you.
My dad is my idol. My dad is my hero. My dad has loved me unconditionally for 45 years and now I want him to understand what that means to me.
I’ve always thought it incredible that we share a birthday, Dad. So much inside of you is reflected inside of me. Your compassion for people--we always tend to worry about others over ourselves. Your sense of humor—the absolute best. Your pride and stubbornness—that of a Taurus. And your never-ending love for music.
When I stop to write this and close my eyes, the memories of you seem so real and as if they only happened yesterday. I still picture you young, blonde-haired, mischievous blue eyes, with that incredible laugh. You live in my mind as a 25 year old behind Grandpa Lew’s guitar. I like you there. I know you are home behind that guitar. I see the way you sit, the way you close your eyes when you sing “This time you gave me a Mountain” and I see your hands. When I close my eyes, Dad I see the hands of a musician, but more so, of a father. Soft, loving, and always ready to hold me when I need you.
We’re not overly verbal about our love are we Daddy? Sure, we say “I love you” and “be careful” and all those loving things, but the deep stuff we don’t really discuss. But, you know what, Dad? I’ve been thinking about it, and I think we do. I think we always have. Just not in the same way as others. I think your love for me is in your lyrics. You have spent a lifetime comforting me with hugs of harmonies, kisses in keys and chords, and songs of sweetness. You and I have always talked Daddy. And I want you to know, Dad, that I’ve heard every word.
You’ve told me I will always be your baby girl every time you sing “Daddy’s Little Girl.” You’ve explained the hurt over losing Mom every time your sweet voice sings “This Time You Gave Me a Mountain.” You’ve showed me how much fun you are and I should always be when you change the words to songs (“The Keys Are in the Shithouse comes to mind!). You’ve shown me you believe in me by allowing me to help you write a song. Every strum of your guitar, every beautiful note on the steel pedal guitar, every word was heard Daddy. And I hope you’ve heard mine. I love you.
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