father's day

I wish I had some heart-wrenching story about my father and I, or even a comedic one or a profound memory of him and I these past 20 years. Though nothing life-changing comes to mind, I do have a number of memories that are irreplaceable….
. . . I was a youngster and you know how you thought it was so fun to sit atop your dad’s shoulders or have him grab your hands and twirl you in the air like superman? Yeah, so did I, ‘til he flung my elbow out of its socket on one of my superman adventures. Oops. It’s okay though because dads can get away with those things and we never get mad, we just scream in pain until they pop it back into its place. Ouch.
. . . One image of my father that makes me laugh every time is of him in our swimming pool. A Midwestern boy, he never learned to swim though somehow his younger siblings did. Now a Californian, and proud owner of a swimming pool he puts on his trunks, lathers on SPF100 for an afternoon dip, removes his glasses and makes every attempt to “swim,” but not before he summons a family member to come outside and watch him, for fear he might drown. He flails into the water, scrunches up his face and brushes his partially soaked hair out if his eyes. It’s time for laps; not along the length of the pool of course, but along the width. So he makes giant splashes as he kicks and freestyles his way the 15 ft. from one side of the pool to the other. I must say, his stroke is improving, so is his tan. When he’s done with his laps, he puts on his prescription sun glasses, brushes back his thinning gray hair into a spike and does an uncanny impersonation of Jack Nickelson. You really should see this, it’s rather amusing. Maybe this summer I’ll teach him the back stroke…
. . .Tennis is not my favorite sport. However, my dad plays frequently and whenever I’m home I get the urge to have some father/daughter bonding time and suggest we play together. So we do, and every time without fail I am reminded how much I do not enjoy the game. After a few rallies I’m already in lazy mode, not picking the balls up off the ground and I want to call it quits. Then I look across the court and think, “I refuse to let a 50 year old man have more energy than me!” So I make a few more attempts at returning serves and even serve some of my own, play games and end up losing 40-love or however it is you keep score. I will say though, that he is very encouraging. “Nice shot!” “Good serve!” he’ll say, even when they’re terrible. I’ll walk over and check the time wondering when we can leave. “It’s only been thirty minutes!?” Yet I guarantee you that next time I’m home, I’ll convince myself I do like the sport, put on my tennis get-up, hit a few balls and realize yet again that it’s about to be a long hour in the hot sun.

Happy father’s day!