April 1, 2008
“. . . We exhorted and comforted and charged every one of you, as a father doth his children, that ye would walk worthy of God, who hath called you unto his kingdom and glory.” I Thessalonians 2:11-12
Today I said Goodbye to my oldest friend. I cannot remember a time when he was not my friend. He had warmed my bottle each evening. I lived in complete satisfaction that he cared about everything that concerned me from my earliest memories. “Oh, her?” my mom told her friends, “My job is to keep her alive ‘til her father gets home. Then she is done with me.” The family walked two by two: my sister with Mom, me with Daddy. “Daddy!!” was the name we cried out in the night if we were sick or scared or just wanted to be sure he was there. Because of his vigilance Mom could sleep peacefully through many trying times.
At six each evening I began listening for the sound the old taxi made as it pulled up outside. My job was to sweep out the back, copy the numbers from the meter and count the coins in his leather purse; the ‘tips’ that meant so much to the family income. Helping him take the cab to the shop on Sunday was often rewarded with a strawberry ice cream sundae at the drug store across the street. His standards were high. Making him proud seemed at times to be my life’s ambition. You just didn’t want to disappoint him. A laminated copy of my bachelor’s degree was posted in the taxi.
As the “baby” of the family I was often alone when my sister went off to do big girl things. Mom and Dad tried to make sure that I didn’t miss anything. When my sister caught chicken pox from me, Dad stayed home with her and Mom took me to the Forth of July picnic and back in the evening for fireworks. What a sad way to spend our favorite holiday. Daddy took me to see Cinderella (and bought me the wand filled with candy beads) and Ice skating at the center city (outdoor) rink and to the Easter Parade when no one else wanted to go. He and I went to see the Warriors (76ers now) or the Temple Owls several times a week when I was in high school. At times, though, he seemed to bear the weight of the world, with a distant stare in his eyes.
Daddy came home one day when I was twelve and found me lying on the sofa. As he began to tickle and tease me roughly Mom called to him and whispered in his ear. I will never forget his expression of sadness and loss. His “little Tina” wasn’t a little girl anymore. I wished I could have spared him the pain I saw in his eyes. He was so careful with us. His buddies began to disappear as we got older. A man with two daughters couldn’t have a lot of male friends around. He knew the world was an ugly place but it wasn’t supposed to touch us. You could only pity the poor guys who dated us. (The ones we married were tried by fire.) No bums allowed! No sense fudging about what time we got home. His flashlight beam illuminated the clock on his dresser by the time we reached the top step. “Goodnight, Daddy”, we would murmur as we slipped into our room.
Our parents welcomed all the children we brought into their lives, by birth or otherwise. Each of the seven grandchildren had a chance to know they were special to them. (Daddy carried my first child around on his shoulders like a super-bowl trophy.) But, many others were blessed by the openness of their hearts and home. Dad always enjoyed a good argument and you were expected to hold your own and make your case. He also enjoyed having a new audience for his “stories.” Cover the little ones’ ears!
I had a chance to give back to Daddy a little in the years after Mom died. He hated it. He saved his crackers from lunch so that he would have something to give me when I came by. He understood giving much better than receiving. He called my husband if he really needed something, because I couldn’t be trusted to get it right. Being old was not his cup of tea. He always wore his coat and tie and hat to his doctor’s appointments so that people would know who he really was. He tried to hold the doorfor me before I could hold it for him. Till the end there were still sparks in our relationship. He told everyone I was a "nuisance." I told everyone he was "impossible." But he introduced me over and over to the same people saying, "This is my daughter." He had so many ways to say "I love you" without using those unnecessary words.
Dad lived such a disciplined life I half expected him to outlive me. At the end of it I am grateful to have had such a long time with this loving demanding charming difficult dear old friend.
“Goodnight Daddy.”
