Snapshots

One of my favorite pictures of my dad and I is one that was taken when I was about 4 years old. In it my dad and I are at the park on the swings swinging like a spider. I am sitting on my dad's lap facing him, my long legs splayed out opposite his. We are relatively high up in the air and both leaning backwards, our long hair swinging in the breeze. We have laughter on our faces. If a picture really was worth a thousand words then youthful, joyful, happy, loving, and all of their synonyms would be used to describe it. These words would also describe the relationship that my dad and I had then and still have now.

My dad was only 21 when I was born, still a child himself. My parents lived in married housing at Eastern Michigan University in an apartment so small that before they had a crib they used to place me in a dresser drawer to sleep. I was not an easy baby, for I had colic and cried a lot. I also cried when my dad held me and am told that I didn't seem to like him when I was younger. Lucky for me I changed my mind and also lucky for me my dad didn't hold it against me.

One of the things I love most about my dad is that he loves to laugh and doesn't take life too seriously, even when the joke's on him, which it is all too often because he is extremely gullible. I have turned out to be his clone ("Like father, like daughter," my mom always says), and am always doing silly things. Because of Dad I have learned to laugh at myself and my life has been much easier (and more joyful) because of it.

Dad tries to inject any situation with joy when warranted. We have a special tree out by Oakland University that we have visited for 35 years (we call it our tree, although I know that many other people probably claim it as theirs too). This giant oak tree stands out in the middle of a field and the only way to reach it is to go down a slight hill and up another. Most people would walk this path, but not Dad and I. We frolic, bounding down that hill in long, high jumps, our elbows and knees making right angles in sync, laughing and giggling the whole way.

My mother may have given me her love of reading, but my father instilled in me his love of music. Music makes my dad and I happy. He and his friends would spend hours making the equivalent of a mixed tape on a reel-to-reel-player, perfecting each song's pitch and tone. I have fond memories of singing along with Aerosmith's Train Kept A-Rolling in the backseat of our car, although my version went like this: "Playin' pepperoni all night long...", or to Chicago's We Can Make It Happen (my version: We Can Make a Napkin). Dad would always quiz me in the car too: "What song is this, Jen?". I got quite good at naming songs and bands, partly because Dad gave me a great incentive: "I'll give you a banana split if you can name this band..." Which reminds me - Dad I think you still owe me about 10 banana splits!

As I grew up and changed from child to teen to adult, the role Dad played in my life changed too. He's played the parts of protector, provider, teacher, equal, and now grandfather. Our relationship hasn't always been roses, for when I was a teenager there was a period in which I went through what my dad calls "The Parents Don't Know Shit" stage and we didn't like each other very much. Thankfully those memories are fleeting and have been superseded by other images:

Snapshot: Riding shotgun with Dad.  It is a sunny summer evening in our old neighborhood, a townhouse complex in Rochester where all the kids run around in packs and the parents don't worry about their safety. Dad and I are on his bike, me in the baby seat behind him. Mom is on her bike in front of us. We glide along with the cool breeze on our faces. I can hardly breathe at times we are going so fast and the speed of it all steals my breath. Then we are at the top of the hill, looking down. Dad says to me, "Ready Co-pilot?" "Ready Pilot," I answer. We both raise our arms to the sky. Then Dad shoots down that hill steering the bike with his knees and we scream with abandon and delight the whole way down.

Snapshot: She can ride with a little help from her dad. I am sitting astride my first two-wheel bike with its banana seat and basket up front. My dad is behind me, holding onto the back of the seat, my cushion of safety. "Ready Pilot?" he asks. "Ready, Copilot," I answer with all the excited courage I can muster. I put my feet on the pedals and off we go, father and daughter wobbling along for several feet until I can manage to straighten out the wheel. Then he lets go of the back of the seat and I continue pedaling on my own. "You're doing it! You're doing it!" he yells to me. "I'm doing it, I'm doing it, I'm riding by myself!" I yell back. I'm so thrilled with myself that I don't notice that the smile on my dad's face is bursting with pride, much like that on my own face.

Snapshot: Piloting together. It's a sunny summer evening, my favorite time of day. Dad and I are on our bikes in the driveway of the house we moved to after I graduated from high school. We are two long and lean figures who closely resemble each other both in looks and in mannerisms. I turn to Dad. "Ready Pilot?" I ask. "Ready Pilot," he answers. And we ride off in tandem, stride matching stride.

Happy Father's Day to all the dads out there, but especially to my own. You have made such a difference in my life, Dad. I love you!!!