Daddy’s Girl

I’m sitting here with a gaping hole in my heart, unable to breathe without a crushing pain in my chest. My dad passed away a few days ago.

Some fathers are absentee. Some are home every night but are so consumed with work, hobbies, or feel that raising the children is the mother’s job that they might as well be. But some of us are lucky. Some of us get dads instead of a remote father figure. Some of us get dads like mine.

My mom said that when I was born, they cleaned me up and brought me out to meet him. (This was in the day when dads weren’t in the delivery room.) I apparently grabbed onto his finger and opened my eyes to look directly into his. And from that moment on, it was mutual love at first sight.

My dad never knew his father, who passed away when my dad was only 9 months old. He made a vow that he would be as active in my life as possible because he wanted me to know my father in a way that he never was able to. As he lay in a hospital bed set up in my parents’ living room on what turned out to be his final day, I sat at his side – talking to him and telling him not only that he was an amazing dad, but also the experiences that made him so special to me.

He taught me to read by reading to me every night from the time I was brought home from the hospital. Because of him and “story time”, I learned to read at a very young age, sparking my compulsive need to read and learn. I wouldn’t be as materially successful had it not been for his commitment to sitting with me every night to read out loud to me. Even though we had very little money, he made sure to buy me books and encyclopedias to keep my curiosity growing.

By being in swimming pools with me, he gave me the confidence to jump into the water and learn how to doggie paddle on my own. He taught me how to ride a bike and was the one that told me I didn’t need the training wheels when I was scared to let go of that safety net. He taught me how to pitch a softball, swing a bat, field a line-drive, throw accurately, and develop my ability as a softball player – passing down a love of the game he loved to play as well. I developed into a third baseman and pitcher that was good enough to be named to an all-city team that traveled to tournaments. Even though I was one of the shortest girls in my grade, he still signed me up for basketball when I said I wanted to play and even cheered for me whenever I fouled someone because “I was getting involved in the game”. Despite no one in the family ever being runners, he still encouraged me when I said I wanted to try out for the track team and attended every one of the meets, even though it must have been boring afternoons of sitting around the junior high track waiting for the two events I was any good at.

I watched football (American football) with him every Saturday and Sunday during the season. My knowledge of the game surprises many but even more surprising to them is the fact that I could call plays and execute routes on the field better than the boys in my grade. My dad and I would go into the yard and throw the Nerf football around for hours. I could throw a perfect spiral and run a “down and out” pattern, catching the ball and pulling it in to secure it. During gym class in high school, my teacher made me head coach of one of the co-ed teams because of my skills on the gridiron.

He took me out of school for Cleveland Indians Opening Day. We bought cheap seats for baseball games throughout the summers. We bundled up against the cold to go watch the Browns lose.  When I got older, the radio station I worked for had a corporate suite in the arena, and I invited him into the suite for nearly every hockey game. Sometimes, I was even able to have him invite 6 of his friends to share the suite with us. And every once in awhile, I was able to get the seat next to my single season ticket on the glass so he could join me right next to the action. We traveled up to Detroit to watch the Frozen Four together (NCAA’s ice hockey championship tournament).

But it wasn’t just sports…he took me to the mall to buy my first bra because my mom worked weekends. Although it must have been awkward (particularly in the early 80s), he made sure a female sales associate sized me and got me squared away. When I was in junior and high school, he used to go into stores like the Limited and buy entire outfits off the mannequins for my birthday because he knew that clothes were a big thing for me at that time in my life and he wanted to make sure that what he bought was just right.

He attended every baton twirling competition I competed in. He endured numerous tap and ballet dance recitals. He watched me perform in countless plays. He took an html course with me at the local community college. He took me to amusement parks and rode roller coasters with me. He listened to me enthusiastically talk about art, architecture, science, and literature – subjects he had limited exposure but delighted in me trying to “teach” him.

Because of my dad, I got into music at an incredibly young age. He played music in the house all of the time. I remember listening to The Rolling Stones, The Yardbirds, Herman’s Hermits, The Turtles, and Dave Clark Five when we did the Saturday house cleaning. He introduced me to David Bowie, King Crimson, Mott the Hoople, and T. Rex. He encouraged my love of Kiss (late 70s version even though he wasn’t too sure about them) and tolerated my Shaun Cassidy and disco phase (you should have seen how relieved he was when I started getting into The Clash, Adam Ant, and the Sex Pistols instead). He endured hours of Duran Duran, INXS, U2, and more Adam Ant cranked up loud on the stereo in my tiny bedroom without telling me to turn it down (although he did buy me one of the first knock-off Walkmans). He learned words to hair metal songs and sang along with me to Bon Jovi, Def Leppard, Skid Row, and Cinderella when we were in the car together – and because I was in high school, it didn’t happen that often so it must have been an extra effort on his part to make sure that he was ready…

He taught me to drive, on a stick shift no less, and made me take my driver’s license test in his 5-speed so I would be confident to drive any car in any situation. He often told me that the super high-powered sports cars that I loved didn’t come in automatic (until Kobe Bryant spent a fortune for an automatic Lambo for his wife). Even though I was driving an underpowered Ford, in high school I could still blow people off the line when we did impromptu drag races because they weren’t expecting me to drive a manual. In fact, all of my cars have been stick shifts. I take pride in “knowing how to drive a real car”. He and I would go to the auto show in Cleveland every year and check out all of the new models. He told me to work hard so I could afford my dream car. And when I finally did buy the Mustang convertible, I asked him to go with me to pick it up from the dealer. I don’t know who was more excited that day, me or him. I let him drive it a few times and I don’t want my husband even touching it.

And even though he himself never really understood this compulsion of mine to travel, he encouraged me to go explore. He took me to the travel agent when I was 10 to buy my first airplane ticket. He gave me permission to go to Florida with a friend and her family for Spring Break my senior year. Although it broke his heart that I picked Miami over Ohio State (mostly because he wanted to go to OSU football games), he still got on his first airplane with my mom to move me into the dorms. Later on as I got older and traveled more widely, he got so many phone calls from pay phones in foreign cities from me just to say – I’m here and it’s amazing!! And he always asked me when I got home – where are you off to next?

He was so much a part of my life that I am finding it impossible to imagine the rest of my life without him. I had a boyfriend once who asked what’s it like being such a daddy’s girl? I laughed and said it was wonderful. But I’m thinking about that question again.

What’s it like being such a daddy’s girl?

Let me tell you, it is wonderful but it hurts like utter hell right now…