Dad

Today was my father's birthday. He would have been 81 years old. I loved my father very much. He was strict when we were growing up, an authoritative father, but he was also fun to be around. We used to play baseball with him - with 8 or 9 children at one time, we had quite a baseball team. In the winter, he used to pull us on a sled tied to the back of his pickup truck over mounds of snow. It was so much fun. I remember Sunday mornings Spanish music playing as we woke up. I remember dancing with him. I remember him singing all the old "rancheras." I remember fishing and camping. After I got married, I remember his visits to our home for a cup of coffee. We would sit and talk for a long time. He would tell me all his stories of long ago when he was growing up and I began to understand him better. As he grew older, he became sick with diabetes and heart problems. He also changed from the strict disciplinarian to a kind, gentle soul. He loved his grandchildren and he loved us. The day he died, I told him I loved him. "Do you love me, too, Dad?" And he nodded "yes." "I'll be back soon, Dad." My sister called to tell me he had died in the half hour after I left him. I returned to hug him one more time and fix his hair. My dad.
I miss him. We all do. Happy Birthday, Dad. We love you.