March 27th is an important day for my family. Daddy died that day. Seventeen years have flown by since we lost him to quickly deteriorating health at the ridiculously young age of 61. How unfair.

I think of him most every day. But especially on March 27th. And on his birthday which he shares with my nephew, his first grandchild. Oh, how proud he was for that boy to be born on that day. I bet the sun had to wear shades to protect its eyes from the gleam of his smile.

I think about him all Fathers’ day long, and on any Friday the 13th, his lucky day. And of course, on April 1st. April fool’s day. He loved that day most, loved to pull pranks. Loved it so much, we all took great satisfaction arranging his funeral for that day. Secretly hoped it would turn out that it was just a big prank, that he’d pop up and say “April fools!” That he wasn’t really gone. But he was.

I can’t help but think of what Dad has missed. Seeing his grandchildren grow, mature, become adults. Watching my daughter graduate high school, awarded with academic excellence. Measuring his much smaller frame against my son’s, his youngest grandchild’s, all 6’5 plus of him. Witnessing his children’s successes. Being there to comfort us when we fail. Seeing my sister’s first art show. Reading my first novel.

Mom and Dad on a BC Ferry, 1975

So I keep my thoughts instead on only the best times. Before the illness, before the pain. I try to ignore that he looked a man of 90 on his last day on earth. Try to simply recall him at his robust best. His joke cracking, spontaneous singing, glazed ham making, dog-loving, best.

I remember summer mornings, he and I up at the crack of dawn. We would sit on the front porch and eat buttered raisin toast before anyone else woke up. Before the neighbors, or Dad, started up the lawn mowers. We’d chat about school, or just sit and listen to the birds. That was our time.

I remember Player’s Plain. Those unfiltered cigarettes he would tap tap tap on the coffee table, then quietly swipe the tobacco onto the carpet, winking at me when I caught him. Then he’d get the vacuum and clean it up.

I remember Christmas. That fake tree that we would all assemble, then step back and wait impatiently for Daddy to string the lights. Then, the pièce de résistance – not one, but two “tree drapes.” Dad’s preferred tinsel that no one but him was allowed to touch. Five feet long strands held together with a cardboard loop to hang from the treetop. He would take forever making it drape just so.

I remember King KameHaHa – Dad in Hawaii wearing nothing but his briefs, a dishrag on his head and a hibiscus flower stuffed in front. His version of King Kamehameha, conqueror of the Hawaiian islands.

I remember you, Daddy. I remember you.

Me and Dad, mid-'80s

Tagged as: daddy, Mom, remember