Ode to my dad on his 84th birthday

Yesterday was my dad’s (pops as I call him) 84^th birthday. Wow, 84 years on this earth. What does it feel like to be 84?

I sat down to write something about my dad but found it difficult to write how I feel about him. He is a man who taught himself how to read, had to leave school when he was 13 because he had to help his family of numerous siblings and mother to survive.

He taught himself how to be a business man. Never really working for anyone else but himself for the majority of his life. Grew up in a household that did not show much love because that was the era they were in and as such has not known how to show love to us as his children. Not in the traditional sense anyway but in the only way he knew how by providing for us. Bought a home when it was unheard of for a man of his background to have a home. Rented it out for years so that when we moved in he could manage the payments. Did the best he could with the limited resources he had.

Left as a widow at 48 with 4 young children to take care of. Shut himself off from the world for a while when he had one disappointment after the other after my mother’s death.

Do I love my dad? Yes I do. A love that has matured over the years. One that started out as not knowing really who he was because he was the provider not the nurturer before my mother’s death. Then he became the man I had to make sure I had dinner on the table for when he got home from work. An awkward stage of my life where I defied him as much as I could trying to get some feedback from him. Realising now he may have wanted to but didn’t know how to communicate with me. The only girl in a houseful of males. His only daughter. Thinking back he was probably terrified of me. Of what I could become without a mother. Terrified of my siblings as well. Of what they could become without a mother. Terrified of what his life had become. A man without a wife and 4 children.

Watching him age and slowly take on much regret about the decisions he has made in his life. Wishing he could forgive himself for the choices he made. Wishing he could accept we forgive him for the choices he made in his life. Wishing I could get into his head a bit more to understand him. Accepting that’s just the way he is and there is nothing I can do but be there for him every time he calls. Every time he needs me. Because above all I know as a parent and as an aging person that we do the best we can with the resources we have. Some better than others but at our core we are who we are and no one can change that.

So  as a belated gift to my pops for his birthday I want him to know publicly I do love him and I do appreciate all that he has done to provide for me and my siblings because he has and continues to do the best he can.