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My Hero, My Dad

Cathy Meis

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September 2nd, 2014 - 07:17 AM

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My Hero, My Dad

Dad, your birthday is coming up. 90 years old, or young! I can't believe it! Dad, you have always been my protector, my best friend and my inspiration. The trials in life have always been met with a gentle sense of humor. Never a word of complaint, your humor showing even through the hard times. A too sweet smile, eyes upward towards heaven, hands folded and then the "bent halo" silliness comes through. Remembering the night a former boyfriend of mine teepeed our house, the dog barking must have woke you up. You quietly opened the curtains a bit, looked out the window and tapped on the glass with a smile. ( I will not tell his name - his cohorts in crime are on Facebook and they know who they are!). That probably had a much more lasting effect on the young man than any expression of fury ever could have had. You laughed with genuine humor (you remembered being a teen) as you reported on how high he jumped and how fast he took off running. I could talk to you about anything and you were always respectful and would inspire me to think and wonder and reach out beyond my world. Our frequent trips to the Museum of Natural History were eagerly anticipated, and that resulting curiosity and desire to explore and discover has traveled on to your great grandchildren. I remember the Horned Toads in Casper Wyoming! We took great interest in capturing the little fellows and keeping them as pets in the window wells to the basement of our house. One night there was a deep freeze and from that day forth the legend of the frozen Horned Toads ("they looked just like a diorama at the museum!") was born. You took on Sister Mary Scary at the Catholic School in Casper, who I was terrified of, confronting her when the discipline became too much for your little girls. We went rock-hounding in the Casper mountains, found arrowheads in our backyard, fished in a lake near Casper and enjoyed visiting "Old Fort Casper" on family drives. After I graduated high school and was planning my wedding, you were in the Sudan in Africa supervising the building of oil wells. Your hair raising stories (the Africans who met you with spears raised in a threatening manner when your plane landed in a field - "let's just get back in the plane, NOW, and go. GO!") and coming home having become a friend for life of the African men and women that became family to us. You were not afraid to express your opinion in writing and had me both terrified and bursting with pride when you wrote protest letters to the editors of the newspapers in your African friends home countries calling them out for human rights violations. Later on we enjoyed a good ten years of riding in your car to band practice when you decided to join me and pick up your dusty clarinet. I looked forward so to those rides on Thursday nights! You were always so gracious and made so many friends there! And no-one will forget your legendary "plate full of spaghetti" followed by "just a little ice cream" for dessert! You were there when my children were in their teen years, to offer your support and wisdom and always reminded me that "this too shall pass". You have taught me how to be a parent, how to put others first and how to keep my faith and humor alive. I taught you how to finally not be afraid to hold a brand new grand-baby in your arms (it took you until Annie came along - and then you two were inseparable until we moved to California). You have taught me how to love unconditionally and how to keep my curiosity alive for a lifetime. I am SO proud of your writing talent and publishing your first novel at the tender age of 88.
Even now when I call you, no matter how difficult a day Mom might be having, or how much your knees hurt, your first concern is how I am doing. And being my father's daughter, my first concern is how you are doing. But when I ask, you chuckle and most often say "just peachy keen" and then ask how I am. These days though I can hear the fatigue in your voice, and at times your answer is "I'm okay." Still, never a word of complaint.
Happy birthday early Dad. I wish I could be there to celebrate with you. I am thankful we had the family gathering in July to celebrate for you and Mom! I love you forever and always. 90 years. Wow. Forever young at heart, but it has gone by too fast! Your little girl forever, Cathy

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