Birthdays

I don't really pay much attention to birthdays anymore. I can't seem to keep track of them. The family grew so much, I was away from the invitations to cake that would have reminded me of them, so many birthdays came and went (and a few husbands and their birthdays came and went...) Well, I can come up with a lot of excuses but they wouldn't matter. I just don't keep track.

Hallmark is missing a lot of revenue because of me.

So today might have come and gone, in the usual scheme of things, without the realization that it was my father's birthday. Very few days come and go that I'm not reminded of him, but why it should suddenly pop into my head that today is the 21st of September and that is a significant day, I don't know. Last year and the year before I wrote about him on his birthday and here I am again, thinking the same thoughts. That people we lose are never really 'lost' is a very comforting notion to me. My dad is in my head, just as he has always been.

I had the honor of speaking at his memorial service. This is what I said:

We’ve been sorting through family photos – looking mostly, of course, for pictures of my father; frozen moments in time that capture his life and passion and loves. One of my favorites is of him and my mother sitting together at Beth’s wedding reception just a few years ago. My mother is laughing and looking back over her shoulder at him – and he is entirely focused on her with an adoring smile, as if she filled his whole universe, which she certainly did.

Another photo is of him standing next to his 200 pound halibut on the dock in Alaska, his face a mixture of pride, pleasure and disbelief. He mostly dredged up bizarre creatures when he was fishing (as opposed to real fish) since he always let his hook drag on the bottom – but this halibut was a true prize. In the picture you can just see him savoring the moment.

There are probably a whole bunch of pictures of him off-roading in the jeep with Carl Jr. and his boys in Yuma and other back roads of Arizona, but the Sr./Jr. photo that says it all for me is one from years ago. They were working together on a soapbox derby car, in the carport of the house on Kenyon Drive. The pleasure of doing “guy” things with his long-awaited only son is unmistakable on his face in that picture.

There is a picture of Gail and Janet and I – this is one he resurrected from the family archives and reproduced a few years ago to send out in Christmas cards. We are standing together in choir robes and were maybe 3, 4 and 7 years old. He loved the photo because, to him, we looked angelic– which I really think is the way he saw us. Even though it isn’t a picture of him, when I think of it I see him as he looked at us – with love and pride. It still makes me want to do my best. I heard him recently telling a nurse that his “littlest angel” was coming to pick him up. She seemed a little surprised when I showed up, but that’s the thing – I was always that, in his eyes, even if time has altered the perceptions of others.

Pictures abound of him with his grandchildren and great grandchildren – laughing with them or making faces at them. He was determined to teach Todd, at a few months old, to blow bubbles with spit, of all things. One photo is of the two of them, face to face, with lips pursed, popping bubbles at each other. Another is of he and Ryan standing next to each other – the difference in height is significant, to say the least, and I’m not sure which one of them looks more amused by it.

A picture I don’t actually have, but can see in my mind’s eye anyway, is of him standing in front of a billboard on Palo Verde Rd., when he’d hired it out for the sole purpose of informing all of Tucson that Herschel Sowers had turned 50. “Good grief” it probably said. Under the bushy eyebrows I can just see his eyes twinkling in mischief.

There is another picture, one I took myself just a few months ago, of Daddy with his almost-life-long friend, Terry Smith, standing together on the front porch, arm in arm and smiling for posterity, a record of a solid friendship.

The pictures are testament to the life – a wonderful husband, father, grandfather and friend. How GOOD he was at all of it! He was a whole package of love, laughter, commitment, intelligence and integrity. His interests ranged from astronomy and geology to politics and cactus growing. Actually there were very few subjects that DIDN’T interest him.

My father expected to live until he was 140 years old. He always said he didn’t want anyone standing around grieving for him and figured that by the time he reached 140 whoever was left would be glad to see him go. That at 79 years old he considered himself to be in the prime of his life explains a lot about his passion for living.

He wasn’t able to finish his novel, and the gazebo that he started to build in the back yard isn’t done. Since he was building it from the sky down, instead of the ground up, he alone knew exactly how it would go together. (Frankly, it’s led to a lot of puzzlement from the other builders in the family.) He wasn’t finished teaching his grandson Mark how to run his old lathe. Fortunately Janet paid attention when he showed her how to wind his antique clock. There is a lot more politics to argue about with his sister Betty and another Literacy building to put together, and he probably had something cooking with the folks at Truly Nolan again. He had yet to perfect his pit barbeque technique – ask anyone downwind from him in the neighborhood about burning turkeys – and never did get to Africa, which he always wanted to see. And I’m sure Kyle can attest to his need for more bowling practice – they were in league play together one year.

On the other hand, he survived being the youngest in a rowdy family of 6 kids during the depression, served in WWII, soloing in an aircraft (a Steerman biplane) that one could probably, at this point, find in the Smithsonian. (He’d give me a grin and roll his eyes to the ceiling at that comment, I know.) He nourished and sustained a marriage and family while earning an Electrical Engineering degree. He was actually in college at the same time Gail was! He ran his own successful business which he built on the pride of his name and the integrity of his character.


He and my mother once traveled to Tahiti. And, of course, he spent a bunch of time in Alaska. He never saw a pretty girl he didn’t stop to appreciate. Or a blueberry pie he didn’t love.

He named a street after Jill – his first granddaughter – when he was building in Pennsylvania. He was enormously proud of Brent and Ty for serving their country in the Navy and Marines. He beamed with pride at Girl’s Chorus concerts when Beth, and then later Lauren and Carolyn, sang. And when great grandchildren started to arrive – Brevin, Rainy, Brandon and Baylor – he was thrilled to start all over with babies; a whole new crew to teach spit bubbles to. He built trusting, confident relationships with his children-in-law – Greg, Render, Mark and Kathy. He treasured his adopted grandchildren, Thanh and Danh.

He helped create a large and loving family, and we will carry him in our hearts as long as we live.

He told me a few months ago that he hadn’t done enough with his life. He thought that with his IQ he should have found the cure for cancer or improved “new math.”

But, really, I can’t imagine a life better lived than his. We love you Daddy. You will always be with us all.