I must start with an apology. You know just how much I excel in procrastination and unfortunately I did a stellar job at it this past week. I made excuses for myself not to get this letter posted for you because Father’s Day fell on our last day in Sarajevo. I was out saying goodbye to all my new friends in that glorious city, then packing and cleaning the apartment like a madwoman just a few mere hours before our bus to Croatia the day after a holiday that is meant to observe you and all you do for me as your daughter. The day after that I was caught up with excitement for this new country I’ll call home for the next two weeks, and the day following that I wasn’t feeling well so I curled up in my sleeping bag and watched movies instead of pouring out my love for you, my wonderful father, into a letter that would hopefully put a smile across your face. Excuse after excuse I made until I realized that I was just being a selfish child only thinking of myself, when you have done nothing but think of and care about me my whole life. I thought to myself, “Dad must feel like I just don’t care about him”, and I was wildly upset at that thought. Through my twenty-two years you have shown me such love, patience, and admiration and I want to tell you a little about it.
I can recount hundreds of memories where I was so happy to just be around you. One of my favorites though is when I was just a scrawny kindergartener and you would drive me to and from school playing Elvis with the top down. I used to get annoyed that my long blonde hair would be so tangled up from all the wind, but now I love to drive with the windows down and the music booming (which I know you and mom don’t always approve of…) wherever I’m off to, regardless of how long I worked on my Farah Faucet locks that morning. However, I wasn’t always the biggest fan of the Johnny Cash you would play, but after my protests you would happily switch it the beloved classic Hey Mickey by Tony Basil, or to Kryptonite when the only direction I gave you was, “Play the song with the cool guitar Daddy!” Looking back I think you deliberately irked me with Mr. Cash’s deep and brooding voice that way I would learn how to speak up about my wants and desires as I grew up.
If anyone knows me now they know that ‘pet names’ are a love language in my book. I call my friends butter babe, twirly girly, honey bunny, sugar plum fancy, glittery brownie bear, cutie cup, the list could seriously go on for miles so I’ll stop at that saccharine glimpse into my way with words. You gave me that tender way of showing admiration for others with all the nicknames you gave me as a little one. This helped quite a lot in the dating game (I’m sure you’re stoked to hear that!) because when a boy would get all fussy about the overly gregarious nickname I would send his way, I knew he wasn’t the right one for me. If he couldn’t handle a fun and loving set of words, how could he handle a fun and loving girl like me? Don’t worry though Pops, I’ll never forget that I’m your sugar booger (as gross as that really is), and I wouldn’t have it any other way.
You showed me that even the little acts of service could be full of love. When I was little I would wake up every morning to you in the kitchen, having already gotten your jog in, shaved, dressed, and ready to take on another day. You would pour us our bowls of cereal and carefully add the milk while singing “Hello mother, hello father, Here I am at Camp Grenada”,as jolly as could be while I was still rubbing the sleeping sand from my eyes in an oversized Winnie the Poo tee shirt. I would sit there at our wooden table watching you dance around the kitchen only stopping to pour milk into our bowls as us three kids would enter the room one by one for breakfast. It really meant something to me to know you would be down in that kitchen every morning; ready to sing me awake with a favorite tune of yours.
From going to tea parties when visiting you in California in high school, to every time you helped me move that chest of drawers (that Liz and I will soon fight over) in college, to the times you’ve saved me from the world, to you attempting to braid my hair as a little girl, I’m so thankful to have you as my Dad. You make life playful with your goofiness, you make life wholesome with your superb grilling abilities, you make like safe with your love for God and us, and you make me the happiest daughter in the world with your unending care for me.
Thank you Dad, from the bottom of my heart, for being my Dad.
Love,
Your little sugar booger, Candy
