Dad's birthday

Tomorrow is my Dad's 80th birthday.  Or today, depending when I finish this.  Friday, March 22nd is the day.  Whatever it is, I am not going back and editing the last few sentences.  This in itself would frustrate him to no end.  He is a planner.  I am a jumper in with two feeter.  He always wanted me to think and plan ahead.  I liked to give him a blank stare and in my head I would talk back to him.  Rarely would I actually talk back to him.  That would lead to bad things.  Not getting spanked or hit.  He would never do that.  He would give me a look and send me to my room.  Trapped in my room, looking outside would be enough.  All my friends out there doing something, me doing nothing.  Punishment enough.  Back to the planning ahead thing.  "Bobby, football practice is starting in a few months, you should be out there practicing or running to get ready."  Me,  "Dad, there will plenty of time to practice when practice actually starts."  Same would go for track practice.  Why run until you had to run? 

I remember from a very early age that he and I would always be outside throwing and catching something.  Football, baseball...whatever.  For hours and I loved it.  He had this huge football that was as hard as a rock.  It actually was a normal sized football, but to a six year old it seemed huge.  I don't think they had the junior size balls back then.  If they did, that would have been wasted money and we used what we had.  He coached football when he was stationed in Korea.  Coached and played.  He brought that football back from Korea.  We would play catch and at first I could barely catch and throw it.  Sometimes the point of it would hit me in the wrist and my arm would go numb from it.  It wouldn't be numb for  long and I didn't complain, because I was with him and I loved it.  I learned to not let it hit my wrist.  Catch with my hands.  By the time I was in 8th grade, my parents let me play organized football.  Yes, I said let me.  From throwing that huge ball and then being introduced to the smaller ball of that league, I found that I could throw it pretty far.  The coaches made me a quarterback.  I wanted to be a receiver.  Now, I'm a QB.  This is a story for another day.

We would also throw the baseball for hours.  My dad had a mitt from when he was a kid.  The type you picture Babe Ruth having.  Huge hunk of leather it was.  He would not buy a new one.  He still has it.  We would play catch for hours and would always use that glove which wasn't that far from falling apart.  The point of this, is that he instilled in me a love of sports.  This love and the skills he taught me helped so much in all my moves.  Being a military brat, we moved a fair amount.  Shy new kids get teased sometimes.  Especially ones whose mom made them wear ugly clothes.  It would be a bit rough for me until the kids learned I was an okay athlete.  Then, things got way easier.

I don't really remember him sitting me down and giving me life lessons, but he did teach me things.  He had a brilliant mind and some things came easily for him.  Not so much for me.  He would try to teach me algebra.  He would say,"blah, blah, blah = blah, blah, blah."  I would say, "huh?"  He would say, "AX + BX + C = what?"  I would say, "Dad, there are no numbers.  Why do people want to add letters?"  Not really, but I may as well have.  It would frustrate him until I got it.  Which I finally did.  I am the type of person who has to see something and visualize it before I get it.  With him, it is in his head.  Like a computer.

Two memories are etched in my mind.  One is when he went to Vietnam.  I was around six.  I didn't really understand much except that he was going away.  I gave him an acorn.  We lived in New Hampshire then, and we spent lots of time in the woods together.  Maybe that acorn meant something to me.  I don't remember.  He has it to this day.  It  meant something to him.  The other is when he went to Thailand for a year.  I was 12.  He had the choice of taking the family to Thailand and being there for two years or leaving us where we were comfortable and spending one year there.  Alone.  He chose to have us stay.  I remember the day he left like it was yesterday.  One of the few times I have seen him cry.  One of the few times he has seen me do it. 

My dad is a West Point graduate.  He spent 30 years in the Army and retired as a Colonel.  Along the way, he got many medals, including the Silver Star.  A hero in Vietnam.  He spent another 25 years at Lafayette College.  At home, he would go and go until it was time to sleep.  He would relax to watch sports.  To spend time with the family.  Other than that, he would be working on something.  He retired at 76 when his mind just started to let him down some.  The steel trap started to rust a bit. I went to the doctor with him not long ago.  When they told him he couldn't drive anymore.  He looked at me and said, "they think I'm crazy.  I'm not going to be worth too much now."  I told him he is the same person he always was, he just can't drive.  That was a tough day, when it all sunk in.

My dad is a gentle man with a huge heart.  He has 4 kids and eleven grandkids.  He got to meet his baby grand niece last month.  The grandaughter of his only sister who died recently.  My cousin came to visit with his wife and newborn baby.  My dad was able to relate stories to my cousin about his mother in their youth.  I'm not going to cheapen it by writing more about it, but it was great for my dad to see the look of his sister in my cousin. 

I guess I'm done here.  Just wanted to say a few things about my dad.  I will wish him happy birthday in person.  I feel very lucky to be able to say that.