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Archive for the ‘Father’s Day’ Category

If you haven’t seen Pixar’s UP, get in the car and head to the movies. I’m not kidding. That’s an order:) And if you are a part of or direct a care home, an adult day care or a senior community center, load them all in the van and take them to see UP. You won’t regret it.

If you’ve been reading my blog, you know I don’t use it as a way to endorse or promote anything I don’t passionately believe in–so I hope you’ll trust me on this.

And it’s absolutely perfect for Fathers Day! 
If you’re a caregiver, what a perfect outing and take your loved one. Sandwich Generation? Take everybody to the movies!

Oh, and take a box of tissues–and be ready to laugh, cry, smile, and leave feeling completely rejuvenated.

Yes, it’s a cartoon, but I’m not sure Pixar’s great films (Monster’s Inc. Toy Story, Finding Nemo, Wall E) can be placed in the category with Sponge Bob (sorry, Bob).

What’s UP about? I’m not telling. I will let you know what you could pick up from the commercials–it’s about a seemingly grumpy old man who has longed for adventure all his life–and about a young boy who so needs a friend. It’s much much more than that and old and young alike will identify with both these characters, their wants, needs and fears. It’s about dreams and adventures and how we find–and lose–and find our way through life.

Oh, and if you’re a dog lover, Doug the dog is adorable! He’s my dog, Rupert on the big screen–lovable, daffy, and most of all, loyal.

It’s about time that our elders were given their on-screen debut and delivered as the complex, meaty, powerful protagonists they are. Yes, it’s super-hero status in the best sense of the word–not because he can fly or walk through walls–but because he still has something amazing to offer the world–his time, love, and experience. It’s about time that the media portrays our elders with the respect they so deserve.

No, Pixar’s not paying (but feel free). I don’t know anyone who hasn’t been deeply touched. Take your dads. Take your moms. Take your aunts, uncles, kids, grandkids, and neighbors. UP will warm your heart, unhinge your tear ducts, and boost your heart.

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Sometimes we make holidays too hard. We buy cards. We buy ties, baseball caps and t-shirts for our dads. We plan elaborate parties and rack our brains for the next great Father’s Day gift when what our guys really want is just to hang out with us. 

Easy and Thoughtful Father’s Day Ideas:

  • Does your dad like breakfast? Mine does. Why not have a pancake extravaganza? Pick up 3 or 4 different kinds of syrups, maybe some bananas or walnuts and cook breakfast together–or at least pull a chair up for dad so he can sip on his coffee and read the paper nearby.
  • Is your dad a fisherman? Pick up some worms or some shrimp and find a lake or stream and hang out a bit. Even if dad is in a care home, you can usually take him on an outing for a couple of hours–or get that fishy kids game that have magnets on the end of tiny fishing poles–it’s fun.
  • Stop by the library and rent some WWII movies–you know, those classic war films with Lee Marvin. Make bowls of ice cream (don’t forget the whip cream!) and even if you’re not into shoot-em-ups, you can be for a couple of hours.
  • Make your own card by writing your favorite “dad” story. Start with, “My favorite day with dad was….” Or, how about “I’ll never forget when dad…” Write it big and clear so he can keep it and reread it.
  • Does your dad have a friend he hasn’t seen in a long time? A work buddy? A distant cousin? Why not plan a get together. Even if you have to pick the buddy up and take him to your dad’s place–or plan for them to meet at a restaurant, it will be toally worth it just to see the two of them gabbing and smiling This hanging out time with a buddy might be just the thing to lift his spirits.

No matter how you celebrate Father’s Day, remember to relax and not watch the clock. It’s so easy (espeically if you’re his caregiver) to get on such a regimine that we forget just to sit and talk, to not be in a hurry, to not think about all the things we have to do. Even if your dad has dementia, Lewy Body or Alzheimer’s, research has shown that the things we’ve enjoyed all our life (art, music, entertainment) still holds true–even after our mental decline.

In other words, your dad is still your dad, and our most precious gift to offer…is our time.

~Carol O’Dell

Author, Mothering Mother

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It doesn’t matter who my father was; it matters who I remember he was.” — Anne Sexton

Yesterday, while shopping, our youngest daughter asked me if I missed my dad a lot–around Father’s Day.

I told her no. Not on Father’s Day. It’s happens at the oddest times– in the car when all is quiet–when I can’t fix something or I’ve had a fight with someone I love or want someone to be proud of me–that’s when the tears come.

It’s when I need somebody to sit beside. Not to talk to. Just to sit. When I need unsaid wisdom and silent, unconditional love–with no agendas, no expectations. That’s when I miss him. So I go outside and find a place to sit. I’ve sat beside him so many times it feels as if he’s still there. He is.

It’s my dad who taught me about caregiving–a fancy term for just being a family. I can remember that Sunday afternoons were for visiting family–we visited his sister, brothers, nieces–and if anyone were in the hospital, Faithful and tireless, he was a teddy when it came to family.

If your dad’s alive, call him, hug him, make him smile. Even the most tangled relationships have something to be thankful for. Find a way to celebrate. Life has a enough tragedies and I see it all as a giant algebra problem–I need to balance the sides–when something bad happens, I need to help make two good things happen in order to prove to the universe that it all adds up, that life is indeed, good.

Here’s a List of Great Dads Throughout History:

Marcus Aurileus, was the adoptive son of Annius Verus and is known as the “Philosopher-King.” The youth’s education embraced both rhetoric and philosophy; his manner was serious, his intellectual pursuits deep and devoted, so that the emperor Hadrian took an interest in him and called him “Verissimus,” “Most truthful.” He is considered one of Rome’s and history’s most thoughtful leaders.

Jose Marti is the father of freedom in Cuba.

Muhammed Ali is one of the greatest boxers in history and a loving father. Also, George Foreman who has a new book out about fathers where his greatest advice is “spend time” with your children–that’s your legacy.

J.R.R. Tolkien was a wonderful father who wrote many letters to his sons.

Albert Einstein was the father of modern science.

George Washington was the childless father of our country.

Nelson Mandela is the father of freedom in South Africa.

A.A. Milne based the character Christopher Robin in his Winnie-the-Pooh stories on his own son.

Jim Henson’s muppets and television show, Sesame Street, thrilled millions of children, including his own, who now carry on his tradition.

Martin Luther King, Jr. fathered American Civil Rights and believed that love, not violence, was the most powerful weapon.

Michael Jordan is a champion and a hero because he plays basketball with all his heart for his team, his family and his father.

Great Father Quotes:

 

“When I was a boy of fourteen, my father was so ignorant I could hardly stand to have the old man around. But when I got to be twenty-one, I was astonished by how much he’d learned in seven years.” —Mark Twain

“It no longer bothers me that I may be constantly searching for father figures; by this time, I have found several and dearly enjoyed knowing them all.” — Alice Walker

My father used to play with my brother and me in the yard.  Mother would come out and say, “You’re tearing up the grass.”  “We’re not raising grass,” Dad would reply.  “We’re raising boys.”  ~Harmon KillebrewHe didn’t tell me how to live; he lived, and let me watch him do it.  ~Clarence Budington Kelland

A truly rich man is one whose children run into his arms when his hands are empty.  ~Author Unknown

Father! – to God himself we cannot give a holier name.  ~William Wordsworth

Love and fear.  Everything the father of a family says must inspire one or the other.  ~Joseph Joubert

One father is more than a hundred Schoolmasters.  ~George Herbert, Outlandish Proverbs, 1640

Blessed indeed is the man who hears many gentle voices call him father!  ~Lydia M. Child, Philothea: A Romance, 1836

Henry James once defined life as that predicament which precedes death, and certainly nobody owes you a debt of honor or gratitude for getting him into that predicament.  But a child does owe his father a debt, if Dad, having gotten him into this peck of trouble, takes off his coat and buckles down to the job of showing his son how best to crash through it.  ~Clarence Budington Kelland

A father is always making his baby into a little woman.  And when she is a woman he turns her back again.  ~Enid Bagnold

Sometimes the poorest man leaves his children the richest inheritance.  ~Ruth E. Renkel

A father carries pictures where his money used to be.  ~Author Unknown

The father who would taste the essence of his fatherhood must turn back from the plane of his experience, take with him the fruits of his journey and begin again beside his child, marching step by step over the same old road.  ~Angelo Patri

My father, when he went, made my childhood a gift of a half a century.  ~Antonio Porchia, Voces, 1943, translated from Spanish by W.S. Merwin

It is much easier to become a father than to be one.  ~Kent Nerburn, Letters to My Son: Reflections on Becoming a Man, 1994

The words that a father speaks to his children in the privacy of home are not heard by the world, but, as in whispering-galleries, they are clearly heard at the end and by posterity.  ~Jean Paul Richter

Any man can be a father.  It takes someone special to be a dad.  ~Author Unknown

The greatest gift I ever had
Came from God; I call him Dad!
~Author Unknown

I love my father as the stars – he’s a bright shining example and a happy twinkling in my heart.  ~Adabella Radici

Two little girls, on their way home from Sunday school, were solemnly discussing the lesson.  “Do you believe there is a devil?” asked one.  “No,” said the other promptly.  “It’s like Santa Claus:  it’s your father.”  ~Ladies’ Home Journal, quoted in 2,715 One-Line Quotations for Speakers, Writers & Raconteurs by Edward F. Murphy

Dad, your guiding hand on my shoulder will remain with me forever.  ~Author Unknown

Sherman made the terrible discovery that men make about their fathers sooner or later… that the man before him was not an aging father but a boy, a boy much like himself, a boy who grew up and had a child of his own and, as best he could, out of a sense of duty and, perhaps love, adopted a role called Being a Father so that his child would have something mythical and infinitely important: a Protector, who would keep a lid on all the chaotic and catastrophic possibilities of life.  ~Tom Wolfe, The Bonfire of the Vanities

Old as she was, she still missed her daddy sometimes.  ~Gloria Naylor

 

“None of you can ever be proud enough of being the child of SUCH a Father who has not his equal in this world-so great, so good, so faultless. Try, all of you, to follow in his footsteps and don’t be discouraged, for to be really in everything like him none of you, I am sure, will ever be. Try, therefore, to be like him in some points, and you will have acquired a great deal.” — Victoria, Queen of England

“That is the thankless position of the father in the family-the provider for all, and the enemy of all.” — J. August Strindberg

“It is a wise father that knows his own child.” — William Shakespeare

“One father is more than a hundred schoolmasters.” — English Proverb

“To be a successful father . . . there’s one absolute rule: when you have a kid, don’t look at it for the first two years.” — Ernest Hemingway

“A man knows when he is growing old because he begins to look like his father.” — Gabriel García Márquez

“I cannot think of any need in childhood as strong as the need for a father’s protection.” — Sigmund Freud

“I watched a small man with thick calluses on both hands work fifteen and sixteen hours a day. I saw him once literally bleed from the bottoms of his feet, a man who came here uneducated, alone, unable to speak the language, who taught me all I needed to know about faith and hard work by the simple eloquence of his example.” — Mario Cuomo

“Be kind to thy father, for when thou wert young,
Who loved thee so fondly as he?
He caught the first accents that fell from thy tongue,
And joined in thy innocent glee.”
Margaret Courtney

“If the new American father feels bewildered and even defeated, let him take comfort from the fact that whatever he does in any fathering situation has a fifty percent chance of being right.” — Bill Cosby

“Blessed indeed is the man who hears many gentle voices call him father!” — Lydia M. Child

Great Father’s Day Links:

http://wilstar.com/holidays/fathers.htm

http://www.history.com/minisite.do?

Happy Daddy’s Day~

~Carol D. O’Dell

Author of Mothering Mother: A Daughter’s Humorous and Heartbreaking Memoir

available on Amazon Kunati Publishers, www.kunati.com

www.motheirng-mother.com

Family Advisor on www.Caring.com

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Do you wonder sometimes why your life has turned out like it has?

Why does one parent need you right now?

Why you’re caregiving dad–not mom–or vice versa?

The obvious reason is dad or mom is still here and needs care.

That’s the obvious reason, but not the only one.

It’s no coincidence.

It has a lot to do with what you need to learn. What lessons have come your way.

Where you are and what you’re doing is important and significant not only to you, but how your experience ripples out and touches others.

Some have pleasant, easy caregiving experiences. Not too many.

Relationships are complicated, and even when they’re not, caring for another life can be exhausting, frustrating and challenging because there are so many aspects to it–physically, financially, dealing with the medical community and other family members–it’s about as pleasant as licking a porcupine!

I also wonder about those people–with nice parents. Nice spouses. I feel as if I’m studying an ailien species that breathe in water. How do they do that? I ask myself.

I had to ask myself why my dad passed fifteen years before my mom. He died of heart disease and had  struggled with it for about a decade–he’d had a valve replacement, several veins replaced, he lived on nitro-glycerin tablets, and in the end his heart simply wore out. I was relieved for him to pass knowing he was out of pain and not struggling for every breath. He held on for my mother. She asked him to and he did. For as long as he could.

Dads can be stubborn, cantankerous, strong (headed and bodied), non-communicative, cold, (maybe less affectionate, or shows it in differnt ways), proud, demanding, opinionated, and controlling.

Not all dads. Just some. Caring can be a real challenge. And some of those challenges are inherent to the fact that you’re dealing with testosterone.

Men are proud critters. They’ve always been the one to help others. They’ve provided for a family, fought in a war, held a job down for 30+years–and now you, their child, is going to tell them what to do???

I can understand that it may take a bit of an adjustment period.

The list may sound stereotypical, but I believe many of those traits are more personality than gender based. Stubborn? Cantakerous? Demanding? Opinionated? My mom staked her claim to all of these. But there’s a male version that adds a whole other level of independence and stubborness to this scenario.

Dads can also push our buttons. A lot of history runs between dads and their kids. Hurts, frustrations, wanting to please your dad, obey your dad, honor your dad–how do you do that and still change his diaper? It’s tough.

Let’s be fair here. Not all dads were Ward Cleavers. We adults have to deal with the disappointments and hurts from childhoods and teenhoods that maybe have been marred by absentee dads, alcoholic dads, angry or distant dads–and now, we have to care give and act like one happy family?

That’s another post, but know that you can find a way to take care of you–and provide the care they need.

Sometimes dads are difficult to care for because of all the things they won’t let you do.

Not just you, but anyone. Pride again. They don’t know how to stop being that person they were for so long.

How do you reach your dad? Especially if you have a hard time (either of you or both) talking about things of the heart?

  • Be patient
  • Let them have their way on things that don’t really matter
  • Honor them. Treat them with dignity. “Brag” about who he is, and all he’s done when you’re out in public or when people come over
  • Focus on how proud you are of him as a person–not just a list of things he did. It’s hard for him to reconcile himself to not being able to be that strong, tough guy he used to be. Focus on inner qualities of patience, humor, kindness, wisdom–things he still possesses
  • Choose to focus on the good times, the good in him–and in you. Let go of the “you weren’t there for me” moments of your life
  • Pay attention to anything that interests him–birds, politics, how to cook perfect scrambled eggs, vintage cars–find ways to connect
  • Smile. Do something they like–pull out the sports page, buy him a car magazine.
  • Be easy. Let go of your own fussiness and let the time just flow.
  • Before long, you’ll see a softening in him–less combative–and if you can get just one small acknowledgement in a week, then you know you’ve broken through.
  • Ignore the bluster. If he’s fussy, demanding, opinionated, even angry–ignore it. Do the care you need to do–take him to the doctor, give him his bath or meds and just let him gripe while you keep doing “your job.” Griping is one way of handling the embarrassment–a way to distract him and you from the task at hand

***

This Father’s Day, if you don’t have a great relationship with you dad, then focus in one thing to be thankful for. Write it down on an index card and put it in your pocket of what you’re wearing that day. If things get off course, pull that out and focus on what you’re grateful for.

Why you’re caregiving your dad and not your mom may be a mystery to you–right now. But I bet in time, you’ll see why.

I know that I had a soft spot for my dad–and it would have been easier for me to be kinder, more patient with my dad–I’m a Daddy’s girl. But it wouldn’t have been good for him. He was in pain. He needed to pass on to the other side. Perhaps my caregiving would him would be hard on him. I was his little girl.

But I believe the biggest reason why I had to care for my mom is that I still have lessons to learn from her–how to be a wife, a mother, how to become an older woman, how to die. I also needed to learn how to stand up for myself. I still had some forgiving to do. I still had some letting go to do. I needed to know that I had the strength and tenacity to see it through–to make plans about my own integrity and personhood based off what she had to teach me.

Caregiving is a two-way street. Each have something to gain. Each have something to learn.

~Carol D. O’Dell

Author of Mothering Mother: A Daughter’s Humorous and Heartbreaking Memoir

available on Amazon, Kunti Publishers, www.Kunati.com

www.mothering-mother.com

Family Advisor at www.Caring.com

Syndicated blog at www.OpentoHope.com

 

 

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We avoid thinking about or dealing with death at every turn.

Even caregivers who are caring for their aging parents try not to think about the inevitable end.

 

 

Cancer, Alzheimer’s, heart disease, stroke, diabetes, combined with age will eventually claim the lives of those we love. And sadly, by not fully anticipating and participating in this momentous event, we’re left scared, in doubt, and not knowing how to die–or be with someone we love when the time comes.

 

Who will teach us? How will we learn?

 

 

I recently interviewed a Rachel, a young mother in my community who experienced a tragedy–she lost her two year old little boy, Tyler, in a swimming pool accident.

 

 

As I sat with Rachel and listened to her story, I immediately sensed she had wisdom and insight well beyond her years. She’s handled grief with grace, forgiveness, and determination.

 

 

My own worries seemed insignificant.

 

Rachel’s story got me to thinking.

 

 

How will we remember our loved ones?

 

What memorial, statue, headstone or story will honor those who have touched our lives?

 

 

While I have nothing against cremation, sometimes people need a place to go–it’s important to create a sanctuary or sorts–a place to be, to pray, to think and meditate. 

 

A place to remember.

 

 

My Daddy is buried in Atlanta, and so this Father’s Day, I’ve had to create a new place for “us” to meet and talk.

 

I like to spend a few minutes catching up with my daddy about my life.

I have a bench overlooking a lake in my backyard. He would have liked it here. He loved to sit outside and talk.

 

 

That’s where I’m headed this Sunday.

I’m including an article I recently wrote about Rachel and a place of remembrance for all those who have lost someone they love.

 

As you read her remarkable story, I’m sure you’ll agree–we can all learn from her–how to love, and how to hope again.

 

 

Angels Among Us 

 

There’s an angel on Amelia Island. The childlike face lifts toward the sky, arms outstretched as though holding something invisible, and bronzed wings gleam against the stark Florida sun. The inscription at the bottom of the statue reads, “Angel of Hope.” It is encircled by a short brick wall and eight benches for seating with a loved one’s name on each one.

 

I found this “Angel of Hope” one afternoon on a photography/bike trek around the island. I stopped to take a picture and began to read:

 

The inscription on the back of the statue reads, “The Christmas Box Angel,” and I thought of Richard Paul Evans’ book, The Christmas Box, about a woman who mourns the loss of her child and finds comfort at the base of an angel monument.

 

At the base of the angel I read, “For all the children” and began to put it together—the benches, the names, the stones lined up at the base, the bouquet of flowers indicating someone had been here. 

 

This angel is a place of remembrance for families who have lost a child. It’s a sacred gift given by other bereaved parents and is available to anyone who would like to come, sit, and remember. 

 

I thought of Tyler, a purely sweet loving laid-back two-year old with beautiful big brown eyes, the son of Rachel and Patrick Pennewell. I remembered the day I found out Tyler had suffered a swimming pool accident.

 

Rachel, his mother told me, “Tyler was our angel. He had a purpose in being here. Sometimes I would just look at him. He was such a calm, knowing soul, and I’d wonder, you know something, don’t you? Some things be understood here on earth.”

 

After Tyler’s passing, Rachel and Patrick found the community of Nassau to be their angels who sustained them in those early weeks and months when shock turned to grief. 

 

“I’ll never be able to thank the people at our church and in our community for all they did. How can I ever show them what this meant to us?”

 

Rachel said it’s so important for bereaved parents to find ways to give back because, “What else can we do? You don’t stop being a parent. You have to find a way to give, and in that giving, your child lives on.”

 

I asked Rachel how she got to a place of peace.

 

“Tyler’s life completely transformed the way I saw myself, and that lives on today. He brought such peace into my life, from the moment of conception on; it was as if he had a mission. Patrick and I now have a second child, Hannah, Tyler’s little sister. I promise, Tyler helped pick her out. In so many ways, he’s still with us. He’ll always be with us.”

 

As I stand in this circle and read the names on each of the benches that surround this angel, I wonder who each one of them are, what their stories are, because it’s our stories that connect us–not the how did-he-die stories–but the deeper question: how did he live?

This Amelia angel creates a circle of hope; the hope and belief that each child’s life, no matter how short of a time they spent on earth, is a gift. If you look closely at the angel’s right wing, you will see the word “hope.”

 

The golden moments in the stream of life rush past us

 and we see nothing but sand;

the angels come to visit us,

and we only know them when they are gone. 

                                                                                                          ~George Elliot

 

Christmas Box Angels are erected in more than 25 other communities around the world.  http://www.richardpaulevans.com/statue.html

If you’d like to view a photograph of this statue, it’s posted on my website at http://home.comcast.net/~cdodell/ (www.mothering-mother.com) on the Caregiving Tips page.

~Carol D. O’Dell

Author of Mothering Mother: A Daughter’s Humorous and Heartbreaking Memoir

available on Amazon

www.mothering-mother.com

Family Advisor at www.Caring.com

Syndicated blog at www.OpentoHope.com

www.kunati.com Publishers

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My Daddy died at the average age men die in the US (78 years old), from the most common disease men die from–heart disease. Yet, Daddy was anything but typical. He was a big teddy bear of a guy who made my world right again.

I was adopted at the age of four. My early years weren’t easy.

My birth mother suffered from schizophrenia (severely and eventually permanently hospitalized), and addiction to alcohol and gambling choked all the life out of my birth father. My sister and I lived with my father’s co-dependent/enabler grandmother and was abused by a boarder who lived in her house.

Not a great beginning.

I don’t share this with you to make you uncomfortable or to get sympathy points because my life didn’t stay that way. I was adopted and received layer after layer of personal healing and insights that allow me to incorporate this experience into my being.

Healing took a long, long time.

My adoptive Daddy was a big part of that. He was 54 and Mama was 50 when they adopted me. That’s taking a big chance–but it also shows what a void they had to fill.

He died when I was 23 years old. Too young for him to die–and too young for me. But he isn’t really gone.

He has become a part of me now–his songs, his stories, his gestures, his wisdom–I carry him every day.

I see him just like I did when I was six and playing baseball in the backyard–he was my “seated” lawn chair pitcher. I broke his garage window. Don’t know that he got too upset.

I remember the summer we had  a contest and ate 38 watermelons. He told me vines were going to shoot out my ears. I hoped they would. Every time my nose tickled, or I hiccuped, I got excited.

I remember when I was 12 and just starting to like boys–Daddy drove me to the skating rink each Saturday night and picked me up at 11:00. I know he really didn’t want to get dressed and traipse out that late, but he did. I remember when he asked me if that boy kissed me. I lied and said, “No, Daddy.” He knew. I knew. But I couldn’t say the words–not to my dad.

I remember when I brought home countless boyfriends and the disgusting look he’d hide behind his newspaper. No one was ever good enough for his little sweety-pie.

Eventually, one was, and I married him. He loves my dad as much as I do. That’s why we’re still married. He reminds me of that honorable man who changed my life and he’s the daddy to our three girls. His face lights up when his daughters just walk into the room. His face lights up when I walk into the room.

That’s why I keep him.

The power of a great dad changes a child’s life. And it keeps changing it. Even after our dads are no longer walking on this earth. Whispered wisdom, needed advice, family traditions and that sense of security never goes away.

I never got to be my dad’s caregiver the way I did with my mom. But I promised him we would take care of her. That promise got me through some rough times.

I hope you enjoy a short excerpt from my forthcoming book, SAID CHILD.

It’s about our night time ritual and coming home after church. (Being raised in church means I have many, many memories of life on the pew). Perhaps this excerpt will spark one of your own favorite memories.

The greatest thing we can do for our dads on Father’s Day is simply to remember.

Excerpt from SAID CHILD:

Daddy slid next to us after his usher and elder duties of collecting and counting the money were complete. We’d all squeeze into the pew making room and he’d have to pull on his coat a few times to get comfortable. He’d reach in his shirt pocket and in one continuous smooth move, a gold package of Butter Rum Life Savers appeared and the fleshy underbelly of my tongue salivated. I got one, he got one and he’d wink. Mama preferred peppermint. Peppermint reminded me of the nausea of backseat card rides.

I’d roll the butter rum disk around in my mouth and hold it vertical between my teeth, my tongue reading the raised letters as if in Braille. I’d lay my head against Daddy’s arm, recognizing the texture of his different suits, and then he’d put his arm around me and poke his finger in my ear. I brush it away and he’d smile without looking at me. I snuggled up waiting for my butter rum Life Saver to dissolve so I could get another one. As the preacher’s words droned on and on, I knew we’d never make it home in time to see the Sunday night Disney movie. We never did. Missing all my favorite TV shows was the worst part to me. I’d have to run a fever or throw-up to get to stay home.

Daddy covered my legs with his jacket and patted me until the sounds and lights muffled, dimming into soft shades of gold as I watched my eyelashes fold again and again, the world faded fuzzy, then black.

I barely remembered most of the car ride home on Sunday nights and Daddy would place me between the cool sheets long after I was too big to be carried, my lanky legs scraping the bed and the quilt slid in place. 

Daddy half-whispered, half-growled, “My baby done gone to sleep, Lord bless my little sweety-pie.”

He’d sing me to sleep and I’d always ask for Mr. Moon:  

Oh Mr. Moon, Moon, bright and shinin’ moon,

Oh won’t you please shine down on me.

For my life’s in danger and I’m scared to run,

There’s a man behind me with me with a big shot gun,

Oh Mr. Moon, Moon, bright and shinin’ moon, oh won’t you please shine down on me. Boom, boom, boom.

***

Happy Father’s Day, Daddy.

~Carol D. O’Dell

Author of Mothering Mother: A Daughter’s Humorous and Heartbreaking Memoir

available on Amazon

www.mothering-mother.com

Family advisor at www.Caring.com

Syndicated blog at www.OpentoHope.com

www.kunati.com, publishers

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Although I wrote Mothering Mother, in truth, I’m a Daddy’s girl. I have a theory: we unconciously sort people into good-guy/bad-guy categories. Heroes and villians populate our worlds. The problem is most people are neither.

Daddy was my hero. I was adopted when I was four years old and he was fifty-eight. That’s quite an age span, but I didn’t mind. I didn’t know how old Daddy’s were supposed to be. He was the first man  knew that was good and sweet and dependable. Daddy was big–in height, weight, and spirit–and I knew he could protect me. For me and all that had already happened before Iwas adopted, protection was paramount.

Daddy was patient with a rambunctious, smart-alec kid. We had watermelon contests in the summer and he taught me how to fish. I played in his rose garden and ate his homemade pear preserves. He taught me how to play baseball and he never got up from his lawn chair to do it. He read the paper each night, and I stood behind his Lazy Boy chair and pin-curled his silver hair while Walter Cronkite dolled out the nightly news. And he never complained. He loved peanut butter, homemade poundcake and anything ab0ut World War II.

Daddy died fifteen years before Mother and although he’s been gone 25 years. I tell our stories. And I miss him every day. 

In many ways, I cared my mother because I knew wanted and needed me to. In a way, I was caring for him.

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