Another chapter in a novel of life

"The Da"

It's time to talk about the Da. That's an Irish word for grandfather, and it's what my kids call my dad. I call him Da now, too.
This picture just makes me laugh. It's a silly snapshot I took last ime he was over for a little get together; I'm sorry to say it isn't very flattering (he's a handsome guy, I have to tell you!). But if you look at his eyes, you can clearly see the twinkle of mischief. He is always into mischief. He loves to tease, and loves to laugh. I love that about him. He and I can get going, so that we are just giggling and guffawing at some silly something. He can have a "raw" kind of humor, or he can just delight in the latest political goof up.
My Dad is a wonderful life partner for my mom. He is a lot of fun; but he also will stop and talk and have great debates. He is very knowldegeable about current events- a friend of the family teases that she feels the need to "read up" on current events before they get together.
My Dad has a kind heart, and is compassionate.
He chips in to do his share, making sure that he does his part. Growing up, Saturday mornings were for cleaning. Dad, Mom and I all were equally busy (of course, I always thought they made me do all the hard work :) ), each taking part in keeping our home clean and sparkling. Dad is the one who cooks, and as a general state of being, is someone you count on.
Dad is someone who loves to pull pranks, and who growing up would share all sorts of fun stories. I used to wish I knew Dad as a teen and young adult- I think we would have had a ball together. Now I know I would have had fun- but I wouldn't want anyone else as my dad.

In some ways, Dad and I are a lot alike. So no one can make him crazier than me (except of course his mother, but that goes without saying, right? ;) ). We used to get into the typical teen- I wanna be a grown up versus adult- you are my kid and will behave accordingly- which I love and respect him for. But even though we can both get crazed, and even though we both get fairly loud, he taught me some of the most valuable lessons of anger.

-getting loud is just volume- it doesn't mean you lose repect or care for the other
-being mad is temporary
-shouting might feel good, but it doesn't help you be heard :)
-always, always say sorry when you are calm and mean it
-always come back after tempers are lost, and talk out the problem with reason.

My dad taught me that a temper can be loud and uncomfortable, but he also ALWAYS came back after a row to "fix" it. It was never framed as "I'm right, you're wrong". Well, it was sometimes, but only if he was. It was more about, "I'm sorry I lost my temper. What I want you to know is...". It is such a gift. I grew up knowing anger is something that happens. I grew up knowing a good fight doesn't mean a thing in the feelings you have for someone else, so long as you "fight fair". I grew up knowing that although he might be furious with me, my dad always, always loves me.

That is such a powerful gift to give me.
In addition to the family gene for chocoholism.
And love of a great story.
And the joy of laughing till you cry.





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