The First Man I Ever Loved

Today is my Dad’s 72^nd birthday.  I called him first thing this morning to wish him a happy, happy birthday and to find out what he was doing today.  I told him how much I loved him and that I hoped he had a great day and hung up the phone.  And then tears started running down my face.  

I have reached the point in my life where I dread my parents’ birthdays.  I can’t even bring myself to imagine life without them…just putting that fear into words brings on a feeling of suffocation, like my throat is closing up.  I’ve been thinking about my Dad a lot this week and the type of force he’s been in my life.  I think most parents hope to provide their children with the a foundation of character, morals, passion, and strength to get them through this world and into the next with the least amount of damage possible, my Dad is no different.

So many people my age recall their childhoods with disdain and sadness, blame their parents for their shortcomings...I consider myself both blessed and lucky that I will never be one of those people.  My parents have given me enough happy childhood memories to last me a lifetime and they were always, always there for me.  Even when I pushed them away.  There was never a gray area with my Dad, he is consistent in everything he says, does, and believes, he is steadfast and true...qualities that are so rare these days.  He has guided me thus far through life, even miles away I can feel his hand on my shoulder... and I always will.

Happy Birthday, Daddy.