My Dad's Birthday

To Dad, on your 75th birthday:

Thanks, Dad, for this crazy life. 

Thanks for all the ways you helped me when I was a little kid. Thanks for coming home from work with a smile (most days, except for that really stressful period in the 80's). Thanks for my pink bedroom, the sandbox, and the fort up above it.

No wonder I love to work with you! 

Thanks for all the awesome trips that we took. I'm so glad I've gotten to see so many cool places, and I'm glad I was with you. Do you remember teaching me to body surf in Hawaii? I do. I was so scared. I'd never seen waves like that. You never told me not to be scared. You told me to do it anyway, that it was worth it.

You were right. It was worth my sand-scraped belly to feel the Pacific ocean, which more alive, more raw than anything I knew, carry me up to the shore in an explosion of white and blue.

Do you remember night surfing on Tybee Island? I was 17. You and Todd ran right in to the inky water with the little boogie boards. All I could think of were sharks, or things with tentacles, or going under and never coming back up. Standing paralyzed in the sand I felt so angry at you for your lack of responsibility.

I did it, though. I went into the water with tears on my cheeks and then I was calm. We paddled out beyond the surf into calm water. We floated on our backs with the blue-black velvet sky above like a canopy and the pinprick stars shining through. I had never felt so separate, yet so connected to everything. That is a cherished memory.

As we walked back to our cottage, laughing and wet, I felt the meaning of the word kinship move beyond my heart and into my bones. 

I want to thank you for saying yes. You said yes, with Mom, to brothers after deep loss. You said yes to trips and parties and sleepovers and camping. 

You said yes to chemo and radiation, and I know it was hard and horrible but I'm so grateful you're still here. Remember meeting at Marengo Caves for my 37th birthday? Your chemo fanny pack and pants that no longer fit reminded me that your body was waging a battle against you, but you still were still smiling.

You and Mom stayed with Liam because you were too weak for a long walk. You were just happy to be with your grandson on a sunny October day.

Just like Bilbo Baggins, whose birthday you share, you said yes to a grand adventure. Remember when you read that to us, my brothers and I? You sat on the landing at the top of the stairs and read entrancing words of caves, dragons, and treasure.  We've really had an adventure, haven't we?

There are shoes in the hall and no spoons in the drawer. There are things to be fixed and books to put away. Games are played, movies are watched, animals come in and out in a constant parade. There is more than we know what to do with.

And there is love, always love, more than we know what to do with.

That's really what you've taught me to say yes to: love. It doesn't mean you were perfect or didn't mess up. You have given me the gift of your apology, and have always tried to do better because of love. You taught me about Jesus and doing right even when you're tired.

You also taught me to take naps when needed, and they're always needed.

Happy Birthday, Dad. I'm so excited for the next twenty-five.