Happy Birthday Daddy

Yes, I said, "Daddy." Yes, I am an adult woman who calls her father 'Daddy.'

And I am proud of it.

Born in 1924, my father lived through the Great Depression. He used to tell us marvelous stories- all lies- about a potato swung past the children so that they could lick it as it went by. The youngest always got the potato in the end. He didn't tell us, but his sisters did, that he would eat breakfast at home, and then the nuns would feed him again. Tall and wiry, they thought he was starving. I gather Grandma was none too pleased when she found out that he was double-dipping.

Dad is also a proud WWII veteran. He was a member of the 104th infantry, the Timberwolves, under the command of Terry Allen. Recipient of a Purple Heart, Dad rarely discusses his service and refuses to be interviewed for the Living History project.

Daddy married his high school sweetheart, and loves her even now, although she died in 2001. He also has never forgotten the two daughters, born too soon, that he buried, nor the one who passed away in 2004.

Dad is 84 today. He will be here soon for dinner. Although he has had heart attacks and stents and other issues, he drives his own vehicle and doesn't go to the store on certain days because all of the 'old farts' shop then. We are having some of his favorites: sausage patties, onion and peppers, macaroni salad and sliced cucumbers and tomatoes.

The aunts are coming for dessert. Brownies. Alas, just home baked, not homemade.

Happy Birthday Daddy.