Happy Father's Day!

 

To the best dad in the world:  I love you and miss you every day of my life!  Even though you've been gone for 24 years, you--along with mom--made the biggest impact of anyone on my life! 

 

I can still hear you sing those country western songs you loved so much.  Whenever I hear one of your favorites, I can just picture you strumming your guitar and singing along! 

 

I remember, too, how much we liked to talk about what we were reading.  Mom taught me to love to read, but you reinforced that love with your own.  We didn't read the same things, but that never stopped us from talking to each other about what we read.

 

In my mind, I see you dressed two ways--in a well-fitting suit, or in your jeans and cowboy hat.  Each were just as much "you" as the other.  You fit into both worlds so effortlessly, but I think you were always a country boy at heart. 

 

I'm glad that you were able to enjoy the good life that your profession afforded you, especially considering how difficult your early years were.  You worked extremely hard for everything that you had--and you were so generous in sharing what you had with those you met.  I still have the afghan that was crocheted as a thank you from an older lady whose surgery you did for free because she needed it and couldn't afford to pay.  I remember that it was always displayed proudly on the back of your office chair.  Now it is also proudly displayed in my living room. 

 

One of the best things you ever told me?  "If that's the worst that ever happens to you, you're doing pretty good."  I think of that a lot--and it helps keep things in perspective, although it was more comforting when you were here to say it to me!

 

Daddy, you were, and are, an inspiration to me and to others that were fortunate enough to cross your path.  You came from very little, but made yourself great.  Not because of your job, or the money you made, but because of how you lived and how you treated others.  You didn't go to church on a regular basis, but you lived as the Bible taught us to, without being "religious."  You were generous, loving, and kind--oh, you had your faults too, but I don't remember those, not like I remember your good qualities. 

 

I hope that you and mom are having a ball up in heaven--strumming your guitar and singing those songs you loved.  No angel could sing a song any sweeter!

My daddy

That's my daddy. 

That's what I always called him--daddy--not dad, or pa, or pop, just daddy.  Even though I was 26 years old when he passed away, he was still "daddy"  to me.  He and I were "like two peas in a pod" my mom always said--sometimes in ways that were good, and sometimes not!  We were both Hoffmans through and through, she told us. 

When I was little, I was quite crabby in the mornings.  Apparently, so was daddy.  Mom told me that she couldn't change him since she hadn't raised him.  However, she was raising me and she could change me.  Since I was sort of scared of my mom, I figured it was the prudent course of action to do what she wanted.  From that time on, I was perfectly happy in the mornings, and if I wasn't, I kept my mouth shut and pretended that I was!

Daddy and I shared a love of reading.  Even though he was always very generous with his money (especially where I was concerned), he truly never scrimped when it came to buying books.  Never did I ever go in a bookstore with him, that we didn't come out without a bag of books.  Even though we both loved to read, we didn't read the same kinds of books.  He was into westerns, and I loved science fiction.  I don't really remember ever conversing with him about books that we read.  It was  nice just knowing that we shared the same love of the printed word.

I have so many fond memories of my daddy.  One of the things I remember most about him, and most admire, is how much he loved my mom!  Every now and then, he would call home during the day.  If, for some reason, she wasn't home, and he couldn't find her in a little while, he'd get frantic.  I remember once, he even drove home when she hadn't called him back.  She was outside working in the yard. 

Every year on their anniversary, he'd send her a huge arrangement of roses.  On Valentine's Day, he'd get her one of those big, frilly, lace-decorated boxes of chocolates--the kind they don't make anymore.  At Christmas, the space under the tree overflowed with gifts for her.  Those were just outward shows of his affection for her.  Inside, where it really counts, he loved her even more.  When she was in the hospital once when I was in college, I came home to help out.  I've never seen a more desolate person than my father when he was at home without mom.  I remember his sitting in the den (which he never did; he usually stayed in his study and read, while mom watched television in the den) and just staring at the screen.  I think I could have had a party in the room and he wouldn't have noticed.  He was happiest when she was by his side!

Daddy had a rough start in life.  His family didn't have a lot of money; he didn't even go to high school.  Once he and my mom married, things were still not easy.  He was in school for the first 11 years of their marriage.  Once his career was established, however, he delighted in doing the things he'd never been able to before.

He discovered a love for travel, and never stayed at home if he didn't have to.  When I was young, our station wagon was the favored means of travel.  As I grew older, and daddy's career became better-established, we took some overseas vacations.  His favorite means of travel, though, was his motorhome.  He bought the first one when I was in junior high school.  As the years progressed, each new motorhome got bigger and fancier.  We went everywhere in them--at last tally, we went to all fifty states (although, admittedly, the trips to Alaska and Hawaii were of the more conventional airplane variety).  Oh, how he loved his motorhomes!  He bought the last one only five months before his death.

When I scanned the picture above for this post, I took a minute to really look at the picture.  Daddy has been gone for close to 23 years now.  I was disturbed to find, that when I really looked at the picture, his features seemed almost unfamiliar.  It's been so long since I've seen anything but a picture of him.  Would I know him if, by some miracle, he came up to me on the street?  That's the worst thing about losing someone--forgetting first the little things, and then the big ones.  It can't be helped, I suppose.  Life goes on, and those who remain have little choice but to go with it.

What I will never forget is how much I love him--still--and how much he loved me.  When I was little I always told him, "You're the best daddy I ever had."  It's still true today.  Daddy, I love you!  Happy Father's Day!