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“Who
was that, dad?" I inquired of him as I placed the bread and milk on the counter
in front of the clerk.
“I
don’t know," my dad answered as he reached into his pocket to retrieve his
wallet. “He is new in town and wanted to know which aisle the cereal was in."
"You’re
kidding," I thought as I shook my head. Once again it took us twenty minutes to
purchase two items. It amazed me the way my dad could have long conversations
with strangers. Everyone was a potential friend to him. My
dad was unique, but my head swirls with glee whenever I think of my Christmas’
as a kid with my dad and his side of the family. In preparation for our
celebration, my dad and I would rush around the house in search of gifts for me
to wrap for the family. My dad
bought items all year keeping them stored for whenever he was in need of
gift. “You
never knew what your gift would be," my cousin Bob told me years later. “It
might be a pair of socks, a ski hat, or gloves, but you could always count on
it being tucked in a Velveeta cheese box." My dad always had at least twenty of those boxes in
which he also used them to store cassette tapes. Years
later as a young mother, my dad would come spend Christmas morning with my
young family and me. I’ll
never forget the year I received the placemats and hotplates that I had made
and had given him only two years earlier.
I guess he didn’t want them, and so he gave them to me convinced he had
bought them at a craft show. One
of my favorite memories of my dad was the summer I met my friend, Kathi. A couple in my church introduced me to
her, because they believed we would be instant friends. They were right. “Where
do you work?" I asked.
“Are
you familiar with the photo booth in the middle of the K-Mart parking lot?"
“My
father gets his pictures developed there all the time," I told her.
Kathi’s
mouth dropped open, and then she smiled. “Is your dad’s first name, Bill?"
Slowly,
with butterflies doing a dance in my belly, I hesitantly confirmed that it was. Kathi
proceeded to tell me when and where I was born, what college I attended, and
details that a new friend should not know. “How
do you know all this?" I asked her. “Every
time your dad picks up his photos, he pulls them out of the envelope, and tells
every detail about each one. There is no doubt that your dad loves you and is
proud of you." Kathi
began laughing, “I loved when he would come in on a difficult day that was
windy. With all his pictures displayed on the shelf, inevitably a gust of wind
would send them flying in the air. While others are waiting in line for their
orders, your dad is chasing photos around the parking lot." When
I was first told this, I was embarrassed. However, I am now grateful for these
reminders of my dad’s love me.
Every child needs to know they are loved the way my dad loved me, and
how he was used to cheer others on a rough day. My
last visit with my dad was in September of 1998, just eight months before he
fell ill and died. Prior to
his trip to Texas to see us, he had been hospitalized for three weeks because
his appendix had burst. For years,
he had disregarded that fact that he had diabetes. However, while he was in the hospital, the doctors
discovered that his numbers had skyrocketed. He finally realized he had to take his diabetes seriously,
and so he told me he made and listened to the following recording each morning
before getting out of bed. “Good
morning, Bill. It is a new day, and you are a diabetic. You need to take your
medication, because you are a diabetic. You must take this medicine three times
a day, because you are diabetic. You must always remember that you are a
diabetic." For
five minutes you hear his voice reminding him that he could no longer ignore
his medical condition. Sadly, it came too late to save his life. The aggressive
medication given to control his diabetes eventually shut down his liver and
kidney, bringing him home to glory, where I am sure he is entertaining the
angels today.
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