One thing I realized during one of these moments is that I will never again share an eye roll with Daddy as my mother ever so sweetly (not) complain about the floor tile he had installed in the kitchen. I won't ever hear my father start a joke and then watch him crack up as he is telling it because he is so sure it is the funniest thing he ever heard (which it seldom was though we would end up laughing anyway because of his inability to tell the joke all the way through). When we have our political discussions now, it just isn't the same as it was when my father would explain his own point of view. The Kennedys we were not, but Dad always had all of our attention when he would begin to share his opinion. Whether we agreed with him or not, it still was hard not to be impressed with how well versed he was in current events despite not going past the first grade in school. My father could debate the hell out of any topic that had to do with the business world or local government. Now, our attempts at political discussions are pale imitations of the ones we would have with "the Boss" as he was called.
I most miss my father when I realize that he left me outnumbered in a way in my own family. My sisters, like my mother, are strong vocal women who have no trouble standing up for themselves. They are friendly and social people who love to talk and express their thoughts to who ever will listen. Even my brother in law is more naturally talkative than I am (I like to call him Chatty Cathy especially when he is on the phone). I do have my moments when with my family I can be just as outgoing as any of them (admittedly alcohol can be the deciding factor). But for the most part I am an introvert who brings books everywhere I go, even if it is to Mom's house for dinner. I know this puzzles my more extroverted relatives and inspires much comment and good hearted teasing. But it never was like that with my father. I can't count the number of times I just sat in silence with him for 30-40 minutes at a stretch with not more than one or two words exchanged between the two of us. We weren't the best communicators which led to many misunderstandings between us, but those quiet times when I would be reading and he would be watching his western on tv are some of the times that I wish I could relive. My father seemed to understand and share with me my need for quiet time in every day. Granted, some of those quiet times should have been spent telling each other how much we meant to each other but that wasn't my Dad's way...or mine for many years. Yet, that is what I miss...the ability to just sit quietly with my dad and know that he is enjoying the quiet as much as I am.
I don't mean to take away anything from the relationship my father had with my sisters. I know how much he respected my older sister for her work ethic and her decades long marriage. He admired how self-sufficient she was and truly saw her as a well-rounded woman: independent yet nurturing, loving and highly intelligent (and a hell of a cook to boot!). Unlike my younger sister and I who were still called "the kids" by my parents and my older sister when we were well into our 20s, at the end of his life he clearly saw her as an equal, an adult. He also loved my spunky younger sister who could run his restaurant single handedly if needed when she was no more than 15 years old. She also gave him her beloved grandchild, Olivia, who I know was the greatest gift he ever received. Even as she struggled with demons in the last decade of his time with us, he loved and supported my sister the only way he knew how. I saw that dedication to her in his eyes during one of our last conversations. The conversation centered on him reserving his strength to hold on until the end of the week when he could see my sister again. I saw the hope and determination in his eyes to stay with us even as his his life was ebbing away. My father loved all of his family, and I know his strongest love was reserved for the family he created with his childhood sweetheart. We all had a special place in his enormous heart.
But I miss the relationship I had with him. We were too much alike in some ways which could cause problems. My sisters would say I was the only one who could tell him off and argue with him (although never winning a single argument). He was sometimes too good to people and was taken advantage of more times then he would ever admit. This legacy of kindness to a fault is something I carry with me. I'm often accused of letting others take advantage of me. But what I learned from my father is that sometimes being kind is more important than getting everything you have coming to you. Being the bigger person was more important to my father. He was loved and respected by so many people, and I am proud to say that I'm his daughter. I love you, Daddy. Thanks for teaching me to do things my way.
