My Dad

I don’t celebrate death days - I celebrate birth days.

Thought of Dad all day yesterday...Sinatra hit the phone as I was driving in Massachusetts.

I considered all the early mornings I’ve put in to get up and head out to work, and how each of my boys has needed my help through the years.

Dad doubled my efforts.

I thought about all the pasta and steaks we ate together and every time I make a meal I think of how he showed me to do it.

I was on the road and Sam sent me a photo of the steak he was about to devour. I laughed. Dad would’ve been proud. 

Oh to see him eat one more Porterhouse.

I swear, every time I cut up an onion for pasta think of him saying, “Cut it small.”

When the Bills game starts these days it isn’t official until I say:

“I got a bad feeling about this one.”

My Dad said that before every game during the super bowl years.

He was right on 4 super Sundays.

But he also wanted us to watch the games with him and he made football shaped meatballs for the parties.

My siblings and I talk about my Dad every week of the year.

He wasn’t perfect, but he was a good man and he divided his heart for each of us.

As Frank sang yesterday I actually said, “Happy Birthday, Dad.”

He’d be proud of his kids and his grandkids. 

We all walked behind him...

...tracing his footprints in the sand...

...trying to walk like a man.

His birthday so close to Christmas was always a challenge because no matter what present you got him...

...he told you that you should’ve saved the money.

I always found it peculiar.

Until I had my own kids.

I want them to keep their money!

“Bah!” I yell. “Why’d you get me that? You shoulda’ saved your money.”

They’ll understand it some day.