My Dad

I’m having trouble finding words for this one.

My dad passed away on Saturday, November 4th.

I have pictures on my desk of my dad, I think of him often. I don’t feel like I knew my dad that well. At his service and Celebration of Life, I heard stories that I didn’t know about him. While my sister and I worked on his obituary, I learned things I never knew. My sister, my eldest sister, had memories of him that I do not have, and she spoke of being able to see dad as a person, the amazing, intelligent, adventurous, courageous person that he was.

I can’t see that. I can’t see any of that. I can only see him as dad.

My dad. Oh, sure, I have memories of him. When I came home from school and my cat had been hit by a car, he took care of it. He took care of me. He didn’t really go in for strong emotions, especially tears. But he was there when the chips were down. He taught me how to make a grilled cheese sandwich. One time, when it was just him and me, he took me out to dinner and a movie. We went to Ameci’s and saw “Heaven Can Wait.” He would hold my hand when we walked down the street and insist on walking close to traffic, because, he said, if anyone was going to get hit by a car, he wanted it to be him. I remember doing the Reader’s Digest It Pays to Enrich Your Word Power with him.

Dad had a lot of pressure on him that I didn’t see when I was growing up. He was the primary breadwinner for a family of 6. Oh, don’t get me wrong, Mom worked hard and had her own set of stresses. Together, they raised 4 kids into (mostly) responsible adults, kept food on the table, a roof over our heads, many comforts, a few luxuries. They even sent all four of us to college. It had to be so much to handle. I won’t lie, he wasn’t perfect. I have bad memories of him also. He did some things in the raising of his children that I disagree with. But what parent is perfect? I’m sure not.

Dad was always thinking. He wanted to keep learning, to keep trying new things. He owned and managed several businesses, he got his pilot’s license, he traveled. It was this desire of his to keep learning and growing that tried to instill in us the value of education. Dad was protective. He was pro-union. He was friendly if you were friendly. He judged people based on who they were. He worked. A lot. He sang. He had a beautiful whistle.

At one point, when I lived in Indianapolis, he and mom came to see me. They brought me a piano that dad had found for cheap. I had a balcony on my apartment that looked out over this little lake that was filled with small wildlife. I came home from work to find my dad sitting on the balcony, and joined him for a beer. He gave me a full update on what the birds had been doing, the turtle family sunning on their log, the occasional frog hopping out of the lake, and the beaver swimming around. It was a side of him I rarely saw, and commented on how relaxing his day was. He responded that it’s what life should have been like all along.

He hadn’t agreed with me majoring in theatre, but he didn’t stop me, either. I am pretty sure he didn’t think I would be able to make a living at it. In fact, he expressed surprise that people got paid for doing theatre. On that trip to Indianapolis, I took him on a tour of the show we were building (To Kill a Mockingbird), and I showed him the set pieces that I had built or helped to build. He said, “Well, it looks like a pretty cool way to make a living.”

I cherish these. The memories, the experiences, good or bad, are part of me, part of who I am. Through it all, I can see that dad loved me enough to let me make my own choices. More that that, he believed in me.

I can’t really ask more of him than that. That belief in me, that is everything. I can look back and see that throughout my life, he always believed in me. So I guess just being able to see him as Dad isn’t so bad, after all. Being the daughter of Mike Stephens is a great and special thing.

I’ll miss you, Dad.

Peace,

Kathie