Reflections on My Father From A to Z

When I embarked upon my first A to Z Challenge last year, I was expecting to just randomly post things that reflected who I was. Instead, it quickly turned into a way for me to deal with my father - his illnesses and his eventual death. He fell ill in the middle of April. My posts continued into May, ending, I believe, with P is for Peaceful Passing. Writing about what was happening was one way for me to deal with the inexplicable pain of the long goodbye.

This year's challenge began in time for an anniversary. To me, I started to lose my dad on April 14th when he went into the hospital. My gut told me it was the end, though I hoped for a better outcome.

[And rabbit trail here - it feels wrong to say a better outcome. It's a selfish thought. The right outcome happened. When he finally passed away, he was finally free of all pain and problems. We are the ones who wanted to keep him here, which wasn't right for him.]

Anyway, April 14th felt more like the real anniversary of losing my father. I have no idea how I will respond on June 2nd, the anniversary of when he finally slipped away from this world to enter the next one.

So, for this year's challenge, I decided to honor my parents. I blogged about my father from A to Z here, and about my mother from A to Z over on How to Laugh at Alzheimer's. It was a freeing, yet difficult task to accomplish.

I started plotting out the alphabet about my father back in about February. I felt stuck on so many of the letters, but had faith the right words would come when it was time. It felt freeing to share so many of my memories. As that anniversary approached, though, my writing voice disappeared for a little while. Part of it was I was really sick over Spring Break. Another part of it was simply having the weight of that first year being lifted off of me. I am the kind of person who has to mark anniversaries. I need to get through that first year and then I have some semblance of closure from the loss. Once I felt that initial closure, I didn't quite feel the need to purge as much.

I did make an effort to catch up, though. I did complete posts through the rest of the alphabet in time for the end of the challenge at 11:59 p.m. on April 30th. Now I am just a little late on posting my reflections.

I found myself using topics that were not on my original list. Some of them weren't as good as I had originally hoped they would be. But, they are off the cuff and honest and unedited. Pure, raw emotional responses to a word beginning with a particular letter of the alphabet. Now, a couple of weeks later, I find myself saying, "Oh yeah! I was going to talk about thus and such!" I realize I can still do that. I will probably blog about my Daddy memories for years to come. I will never fill that void that is left inside of me and will never stop missing him.

Will I do this challenge again next year? Yes. This blog is my everything blog. Anything goes here. I write about all kinds of thoughts and ideas. I just have no idea what the alphabet will bring me next year.

Here is the list of posts that I did this year about my dad. Following this list are the posts from last year's challenge, as well.

A is for Artist
B is for Books
C is for Cooking
D is for Daddy
E is for Ev'ry Mountain
F is for Farts
G is for Gardening
H is for Heart and Hugs
I is for Insert Intelligent Sarcasm Here
J is for Jail
K is for Kids
L is for Laughing
M is for Manly Man
N is for Naughty
O is for Opinionated
P is for Pride
Q is for Quiet
R is for Richard
S is for Siblings
T is for Tickling
U is for Unique Bedtime Routine
V is for Vicar of Dibley
W is for Watch
X is for Xenial
Y is for Young
Z is for Zappy

The 2011 Challenge:

A is for...
B is for...
C is for Candida
C is for Cookie
D is for David and Dylan
E is for Eddie
F is for Fiona
G is for Grover
H is for Hiking
I Am Mine
J is for Juggling
K is for Kindness and Karma


L is for Love and Loss
M is for Meetings and Memories
N is for Numb
O is for Options
P is for Peaceful Passing
Q is for Questions

My Daddy Tribute: Z is for Zappy

Again, I refer to that fabulous site that has assisted me greatly during this challenge. I found a word on The Phrontistery that describes my father well: zappy. The definition is "lively; entertaining." If you have been reading through this blog or knew my father in person, you would have to agree that this sums him up pretty well. Even when he was sick or just wasn't feeling well, he was an entertaining man. He was a bundle of energy that could fill a room, in a good way. He was a tremendous person who is greatly missed by many people.

To those of you who have been taking this journey with me this month, I would like to say thank you. I didn't quite pull it off in the proper fashion, as I have had to write in big bursts of posts. But the challenge is now complete. I feel reconnected to my father again. I have laughed and cried while reminiscing about him this month. With it being a year since he got sick and almost a year since he died, I am feeling more and more closure and acceptance. Thanks for sharing this with me.

My Daddy Tribute: Y is for Young

After Dad died last year, many people asked me how old he was. They assumed he was older, considering all of his health issues. When they heard he was only 68, they all said, "Oh, that's so young."

Yes, it was young. His own father was even younger when he died. He was only 66.

My father knew that he was going to die at a young age. I don't know for certain how he knew, other than his acknowledgement of all of his health issues. He had been sick since he was a young boy. I didn't realize how sick he had been until family discussions after he had passed away.

Perhaps that is why my father always stayed young at heart. He always got along well with kids and enjoyed joking with them. My friends all loved him. The kids at the jail where he worked between the store and his retirement got a big kick out of him. As people shared memories of him, they often talked about his jovial spirit.

I guess Billy Joel said it best when he said that only the good die young.

My Daddy Tribute: X is for Xenial

According to The Phrontistery, the word "xenial" means "of or concerning hospitality toward guests." I guess you could say that my father was a xenial person.

My parents' home was always full of guests. When I was a young child, they had an annual Christmas party. The small apartment in which we lived at their store would fill up with dozens of friends and family. Dad belonged to AA and sponsored numerous young men. They were always welcome in our home and often played in the pool after meetings. I had many friends who had to leave home for one reason or another. My parents would put them up for a few weeks until they could get back on their feet. We had more friends over than family during many holidays, such as Thanksgiving. At any function, my father was one of the first to greet every guest. He had a knack for remembering everyone's name and something about them. He always made people feel welcome and appreciated.

My Daddy Tribute: W is for Watch

When Dad would shower and shave, he would remove his rings and his watch. He hated it if I sat and watched him shave, but every once in a while he would allow it.

One day, when I was two years old, he forgot to put on his watch before leaving the bathroom. When he realized it was missing, he practically tore apart the bathroom looking for it. I believe it belonged to his father, who had recently been diagnosed with cancer. (He died when I was three.)

When he was ready to give up the search, Dad finally decided to give in and ask his beloved daughter if she had any idea where Daddy's watch could be. I looked up at him with my angelic face and said in my sweetest voice, "It's not in the toilet!"

Dad made a beeline for the bathroom and lifted up the lid. Sure enough, there was his watch, at the bottom of the toilet!

Lucky for him, and probably for me, the watch dried out and was functional again for several more years. And thus was born Dad's favorite story to tell everyone I ever met.

My Daddy Tribute: V is for Vicar of Dibley

Dad was a huge fan of British comedies. In his later years, he regularly watched The Vicar of Dibley and Keeping Up Appearances. Just like when he was watching The Golden Girls, he would laugh hysterically at the jokes and puns, even if he had seen the episodes a dozen times before.

When I was a kid, I remember watching lots of other comedies with him. He was a big fan of Benny Hill. As an adult, I realize how much of that actually went over my head. Sometimes I can't believe I was allowed to watch that with him! He also watched a lot of Monty Python's Flying Circus and the various movies. He also was hooked on Absolutely Fabulous.

It's his fault that I am now addicted to the same.

My Daddy Tribute: U is for Unique Bedtime Routine

When I was little, I had a bedtime routine that was unique to my father and him. The normal part was that I was supposed to go potty before climbing into bed. What was unique was how my father would get me to actually pee.

I had a large Raggedy Ann doll that someone had made for me. She was one of my favorites and always accompanied me to bed. While I would sit on the toilet, Dad would lie on his back on the bathroom floor. He would suddenly yell, "Raggedy Ann! Your clock struck again! BOING!" and throw her up in the air. I don't know why that was so funny, but I would laugh until I...well....you know.

Every once in a while he would perform a variation, using my beloved blankie. I remember one night when he misfired and Blankie ended up going over the shower curtain and got wet. I wasn't too happy about that.

Once my business was finished, I washed my hands and scampered through the door to their adjoining bedroom. The three of us would curl up in the bed to talk and to read books. When my sister got a little older, she would join us. And then I would have to go to sleep in my own bedroom.

Those are some of my most favorite memories of my father. We joked about that for years.

My Daddy Tribute: T is for Tickling

Many families have a favorite pastime of tickling battles, especially when the kids are little. Dad was positively brutal when it came to the tickling! He would chase me around the house and always managed to get my feet. No matter how much I kicked and screamed, he would keep on tickling my feet!

To this day, I cannot stand to have someone tickle my feet. I don't even like my feet to be touched. I remember when I got hit by a car while crossing the street in college, I had to go to the hospital to be examined. The doctor ran his finger up the bottom of my feet to make sure I still had feeling. I almost kicked him in the nuts as an impulse.

I know that some people would say that it's my father's fault that I have an aversion to feet. Maybe it is. But I don't see it as anything really bad or truly traumatizing. To be honest, I think I just have sensory issues with my feet in general that have nothing to do with them being tickled. I eventually got used to people touching them when I underwent reflexology for migraines and other ailments. As for my father, that tickling torture is just another one of my fond memories from childhood.

My Daddy Tribute: S is for Siblings

My father was the second in line with one boy ahead of him and two sisters behind him. He seemed to be a classic middle child, always trying to get attention. The older of his two younger sisters is my godmother. She wanted to contribute some of the memories of the siblings to this project and sent me an email of them. Here are a few of my favorites from her collection.

He was forever the teaser…..talking to my friends about the ghosts in the cemetery behind our house. I remember one night my friend was over and we made an anonymous call to a boy. Rick got on the other extension and made sure that boy knew who was calling On another night when Mom and Dad were out, he talked my friend and me into getting dressed up and stuffing our boobs with socks and then standing next to Monroe St. like that. When a car came and slowed down, we would run into the bushes

Of course, you can’t talk about Rick without talking about farting. Not sure why my brothers both got such a kick out of that!!! Rick used to fart and say “FINS” after which stood for SNIF spelled backwards. More silliness!

One time Linda had a date for a prom and Rick and I dressed up like her parents and greeted the poor guy at the door who had no idea what he was in for We thought we were so freaking funny!

Not sure what just made me think of this but Rick always from a young age gave the BEST gifts. He always put so much thought into the gifts he gave and had such great taste. I still have some necklaces he gave me about 40 years ago and I still wear them from time to time.

My Daddy Tribute: R is for Richard

My father's name was Richard. Here is what some websites have to say about his name's meaning and origin:

Think Baby Names


Think Baby Names says that Richard is of German origin and means "powerful leader." My father often went by Rick and family called him Ricky. According to this site, Ricky also means "peaceful ruler."

Baby Names World


Baby Names World has Richard as being of French origin, meaning "strong power, hardy power."

Behind the Name


According to Behind the Name, Richard means "brave power" and was brought to the British by the Normans. It is more popular in Hungary than in America right now.

My Daddy Tribute: Q is for Quiet

It was hard to come up with a word for the letter Q that accurately describes my father. I even tried to do a search for adjectives and other words, but none of them really seemed to fit. So, I have resorted to just using "quiet."

Usually when you think of the word "quiet" you think of someone's volume. My father wasn't that kind of quiet, nor was he loud. When I associate the word "quiet" with my father, I think more along the lines of holding things in. Dad was not someone who spoke a lot about his true feelings, as in his deeper emotions. He believed that people talked too much and accused me of regularly oversharing. He probably would be freaking out if he knew that I have been writing about him all month on this blog.

When my father mourned, he held it in. He never liked to allow anyone to see him cry. When he succumbed to his grief, he tried to turn it off as quickly as possible. He didn't like to talk about his feelings. Sure, he shared his opinions, but that was different. He also would hold back on his other emotions. I have only a few memories of really hugging my father when I was a kid. I never doubted that he loved me, but he wasn't always hugging on us like my mother did. It wasn't until his later years that he finally started to give in to his emotions and to demonstrate them in public. His mother was exactly the same way.

Dad was opposed to talking publicly about Mom's Alzheimer's for a very long time. I was even forbidden to discuss it outside of the family. He finally came around to wanting to talk about it and to share about it thirteen months ago, on the eve of this challenge last year. I had told him that I wanted to start a blog called How to Laugh at Alzheimer's. Its purpose would be for us to share our journey with Mom and to reach out to others in similar situations. He conceded and looked forward to contributing. But two weeks later, just before I could get him set up to help me with it, he went into the coma. I guess he was destined to remain quiet.

My Daddy Tribute: P is for Pride

My father was proud man, but not in the negative sense of the word. He was proud of his family and of our accomplishments. I have said before that we often heard about how he would talk about us to everyone. He and my mother often told us that they were proud of us. Sure, neither one of us chose careers that would make us any money. But we loved what we did, and that was more important.

When conversations arose about me moving back home to help out, they said absolutely not. My life was no longer there. They wanted me to keep growing and moving in a forward direction. To move back home would be to move backwards, and that wasn't right.

I remember my father's excitement the first time I had something publish on what was then known as Associated Content. He was excited to tell people that his daughter had finally been published. I subscribed him to all of my writing sites and he read every word I wrote. (At least that is what he said to me.) I know he forwarded some things on to other people.

He also loved to share my photographs. He spoke highly of my sister's devotion to her missionary career. He also loved to talk about her incredible art talent, even though she barely used it. Her artworks were always proudly displayed in the living room for all to see.

I still often grab the phone to call my parents when I have had a big accomplishment. It's hard for me to not hear their voices telling me how proud they are of me, but I know they still are. And I am proud to be their daughter.

My Daddy Tribute: O is for Opinionated

My father was one of the most opinionated people I had ever met. He knew what he knew and believed what he wanted to believe, and there was no way of persuading him to think otherwise. He would debate topics with people for hours on end. He always seemed well-informed. He had an amazing knack to remember all kinds of dates and facts about all kinds of topics. He could pull out this information in a split second to try to knock down your theories or opinions. That is a dangerous person to go up against in an argument!

Unfortunately for him, that meant he raised a daughter who was able to do the same thing. We may not have always agreed on topics, but we could debate them. Sometimes, especially when I was younger, I think I purposely picked the opposite point-of-view, just to get his goat. I swear he did the same to his own parents.

I miss his wisdom and our debates.

My Daddy Tribute: N is for Naughty

My father was quite naughty. When he was a young kid, he had that devilish look in his eye, even at the young age of 5, as shows in this picture of his kindergarten portrait.

I have students like that in my classroom. I know what that look means. Honestly, they can also be the most fun to have in your class. I like stinkers. This is probably why.

My aunts have numerous stories to tell about the harassment that they received from my father when they were little. Older brothers are notoriously naughty to their younger sisters. Somehow, I think he was even worse than their other older brother. He would taunt them and their dates. He picked on everyone he met. That was a sign of affection, though. The more he liked you, the more he would harass you.

People would meet my father and comment to me how naughty he was with his sense of humor. Dad would just tell it like it was, but always manged to through a humorous spin on things. He would be a stinker on my Facebook posts. One comment I remember hearing, that I am sure I have said before, was how much people would miss his posts.

My sister and I have inherited his naughty streak. I actually take it as a compliment when someone tells me I am being naughty.

My Daddy Tribute: M is for Manly Man

I always hated shopping for my dad around Father's Day and holidays. The stores were always boasting all kinds of sales with your father in mind. "Your dad will love these new power tools!" "Get Dad what he really wants - a new set of golf clubs!" Dads were always being shown with their fancy toys and their sports stuff. After all, isn't that the epitome of a manly man? The Tim Allen figure with his loud tools and the big sports buffoon?

My father wasn't that kind of "manly man." Sure, he liked his tools, but used them for gardening, art, and working in the store. He could care less about sports. I wasn't raised in a house that watched a lot of football, basketball, baseball, etc. I think sometimes my father wondered where on earth I got that gene that made me a football freak in my adult life. The only times I can remember him actually watching football were when I was home visiting.

Does this lack of being a manly man mean that father was less of a man? I think not. I would rather define a father as the kind of man who takes on the responsibility of a family and does whatever it takes to care for them. He doesn't strike his wife nor children. He enjoys being in their company. That is more important that tools or sports any day.

Not leaving A to Z!

I feel like I need to put a post on all of my blogs. Yes, I am WAY behind on the challenge. Life keeps getting in my way. I should have listened to that gut instinct of mine that said, "Write them early!" Lol

Anyway, I have a ton of writing time coming up again soon and will be cranking them out and I WILL finish this month! On all of them! Promise!!

My Daddy Tribute: L is for Laughing

My father loved to laugh. Even when times were rough, he would find a way to laugh. It's the only way to get through some of those horrible situations, such as dealing with my mother's Alzheimer's. The joking was more of a defense mechanism and not intended to be cruel or demeaning. It's something I have inherited.

Dad's sense of humor was legendary. My friends on Facebook always loved reading his quips on my photos and posts. Everyone who met him would always comment on how funny he was. People would remember his jokes for a really long time. I had one coworker who seemed to be the only other person in the world who knew John Pinette's famous comedic bit about being the fat man eating at the Chinese buffet. "You been here four hour, you go now!" For years after she met my parents, she would send me messages when I was with my father, using that particular quote. In fact, my father could never eat in a Chinese restaurant without launching into the bit, himself.



He loved to watch funny movies and TV shows. His favorite show was The Golden Girls. He knew every line of every episode and always laughed as if it was the first time he had heard it. His head would throw back and he would just let out the biggest guffaw. Sometimes my mom would come running, thinking he had hurt himself or was sick. It would always be just that he was laughing so hard at something. One of our good family friends could always judge how funny something was by whether or not he could see the roof of Dad's mouth while he was laughing. It amplified the contagious nature of his laughter. Even if you were mad at him, you almost couldn't help yourself but to laugh when he did.

I miss that laugh, but can still hear it.

My Daddy Tribute: K is for Kids

When my father was dying, I heard a few comments. One was how sad it was that my parents hadn't done more with their lives. They didn't really travel. They didn't really have a retirement. And then I heard comments that my parents' worlds revolved around us - their kids.

I think that is quite true. Our little nuclear family was all we had. Sure, we had relatives on both sides of the family. Both of them had brothers and sisters, who in turn had children. But distance and age differences and other factors prevented us from always getting together with them. But we had each other.

My parents didn't need to go out to see the world. They got to see the world through our eyes. My sister is a seasoned world traveler, thanks to her job. I have only been to France and Switzerland. Two of those trips were with my father.

When they gave up the furniture store, they led a new working life. It was one that actually had vacation time. What a concept. But instead of taking that time to go explore somewhere on their own, they preferred to take time to come visit their kids. It was easy when my sister and I both lived in the same city a few states over. They could come stay with one and visit us both, all in one shot. They lived for us coming home to visit them on our breaks. In fact, I spent almost every single school vacation back at their house. Others I know were taking fantastic vacations. I just always wanted to go home and spend time with my grandma and my parents. I knew that I wouldn't have them forever. I just didn't expect our time to be cut so short so soon.

Dad always seemed like the kind of guy who didn't want a lot to do with kids. Sure, he had fun playing with them here and there. But he was always grateful when the quiet time came when they went home. I remember being surprised when he started bugging me about having kids. He is the one who once said to me, "Your mother and I don't care anymore if you get married. We just want the grandkids!" He loved looking at pictures of his siblings' grandkids and dreamed of being able to post a zillion of his own photographs on Facebook. He loved having my cousins visit with their beautiful daughters.

The closest I ever came for him was when I dated a man who had custody of his five year-old daughter. That relationship didn't work out and about 14 years have passed. No grandkids have ever made it into the picture. I think my dad would have been a great grandfather. He would have had a short period of patience, but would have enjoyed every second of being with them. I'm sorry for my future kids and their father that they will have never met him.

My Daddy Tribute: J is for Jail

No, my father was never in jail. At least not as far as I know! (And if you know something I don't, please do not tarnish my image of my father! LOL) But he did work at a juvenile jail for several years. When my parents decided to give up their furniture store, my father managed to secure a position working in a juvenile detention center. He worked a lot of first shift at that time and had a chance to interact with the kids.

My father always had a soft spot for boys who needed positive role models. He did a lot of sponsorships in AA for about 30 years. I had all kinds of "brothers" while I was growing up. And when he was at the detention center, he got to do the same thing.

Eventually he moved over to the residential facility, where offenders stayed for more long-term sentences. I think the kids respected him for the most part, because he respected them. He liked to joke around with them and treated them like human beings. Sometimes, these troubled boys just want someone to pay attention to them.

As Dad's health declined, he eventually had to move to the third shift. That meant less walking around and less liability because he was unlikely to have to chase someone down at that hour. I know he really missed the kids, though, not being able to see them all day long. I remember him being really upset when one of the boys committed suicide. At least it wasn't on his watch, but he was still quite shaken up by the incident.

When Dad finally reached retirement age, he gave in to retirement. He never quite got over that third shift kind of a schedule. He was often still up all night and slept all day. It made it hard on him because my mom was on an opposite schedule. Toward the end, they seemed to compromise more. He didn't really miss the politics of being at the jail, but I know he missed a couple of his coworkers and again the kids.

A few of them came to pay their respects at his memorial service. I think he would have liked that.

I wonder how many lives he truly touched while he was there....

My Daddy Tribute: I is for Insert Intelligent Sarcasm Here

My father was the King of Sarcasm. If people ever wanted to know from where I got it, they knew after spending a little bit of time with him. But it wasn't meant to be cruel. He always meant it in a light-hearted way and expected you to get it on an intellectual level.

Dad was also notorious for interjecting his opinion on everything. It didn't matter what the topic was. He would let you speak for a while and then had to insert his two cents' worth. Actually sometimes, it was more like two dollars' worth. The more he respected you and your intelligence, the more he had to say, sarcastically or seriously.

I think I got the brunt of that intellectual discourse when I was growing up. I am naturally argumentative. I prefer to think of it as debating. I used to pick up books on certain topics and memorize the information in them, just to piss him off and to spark debate. When I got older, I realized that we actually saw eye-to-eye on many hot topics. We just argued our points differently.

He and my sister also spend many hours debating intellectual design and other religious topics. He seemed to use less of that sarcasm with her, though. I guess I just bring it out in people.