For my DDD

My dad grew up in the Bronx during the Depression. Think about that. 1930’s New York. Gritty and grimy. Everyone still wore hats!

When I was growing up, I saw glimpses of the era he was born into. Like the powdered toothpaste he used. Or his Vitalis hair tonic. Or the Velveeta we had in our fridge. Or how he called jeans “dungarees.”

My dad was truly a Depression-era New Yorker, and he thought that meant he was hard and gruff and mean and prone to fighting. But in reality, my dad was none of those things.

My dad was kind-hearted and wise and gentle and loving.

As our dear family friend Tom B. said in a recent email, “It wasn’t hard to like your dad. Get beyond his New York gruff and you would find the nicest guy in the world.”

My dad had already lived a lifetime before he met my mom, and before I was born. My parents met when he was 50. I was born when he was 51.

Long before we came around, he was in his high school’s library club — of course. He worked for the school newspaper where he went to every single football game and reported on all the plays. He delivered flowers, and worked for the butcher. He left home to serve in the Air Force. He worked on radars, and taught electronics. He married Margaret when he was 28, and a few years later experienced an unimaginable loss in her sudden death. He traveled to Japan and Vietnam to get away. He settled in California. He was an engineer in Silicon Valley before it got its name. He stopped drinking, and found a life-long community in AA. He had a successful career.

And then he traveled to Germany for work, and met my mom. I’ve always thought it was so romantic that my parents met abroad in Europe, while he was there on business. Even more romantic is that they hadn’t known each other for very long when he asked her to move out to California and marry him.

She did. Then they bought a house. Then I — the girlchild — came along. And our home was always filled with love, and pets, and good food, and friends, and laughter, and a ridiculous number of books.

My guy Jake, who has been a rock for me and my mom during this time, came into my life over 7 years ago. My dad loved him right from the get. I’m so very grateful that Jake got to spend so much time over the years with my dad. I loved to see the two of them sitting on the couch and talking, talking, talking. My dad was always a better conversationalist than he gave himself credit for.

It’s a great tragedy that my amazing parents and Jake’s amazing parents didn’t have a chance to meet before my dad passed away. The day he died, I told Joe and Lori just that: “I wish you could have met him.”

And they said, “We do too. We will know him through you.”

I can’t begin to tell you how much comfort there is in that thought — that the world can continue to behold my beloved father through me and through my mom. What an honor it is to carry on my dad’s legacy, all the best parts of him.

There are so many things about me that are from my dad. My thick hair. My big pores. My toothy smile.

But the greatest gifts he gave me were these:

My dad taught me how to be self-sufficient — to change tires, and fix toilets, and do my taxes.

My dad showed me the joy of mulling over a good logic puzzle or taking delight in funny wordplay.

My dad instilled in me a love of music, but “only the kind where you can understand what they’re saying.”

My dad taught me that butter should be used liberally, that meat should always be cut against the grain, and that food should always be served piping hot.

My dad gave me my love of reading, and demonstrated by example that you can never have too many books.

My dad cultivated my self-confidence. He thought I could do anything in the world that I wanted, and he told me just that all the time.

My dad made me feel safe. He was a fierce protector of “his girls.”

My dad cheered me on in everything that I did, and constantly told me — and anyone who would listen — how proud he was of his girlchild.

My dad was a calm and steady anchor in any kind of storm — not just for me, but for my mom, and many friends and family.

My dad showed me love in everything that he did, and told me he loved me all the time.

And really, that’s what I want us all to bear witness to today:

My dad loved me and my mom deeply and palpably.

He would consider that to be his greatest life accomplishment. And we sure do, too.

One of the things I will miss most about my dad is the look he would get on his face whenever I was around. Or really whenever anyone ever spoke of his girlchild. For some reason this expression has never been captured on camera. And not because it was an uncommon occurrence — because it happened all. the. time.

Those of you who knew him know exactly the face I’m talking about. It was something like slack-jawed adoration, or a visible melting and oozing of love.

This look is partially what earned him the nickname Doting Daddy. A name which was eventually — by great necessity — upgraded to Desperately Doting Daddy, or DDD for short.

Whenever I’d come home from school or for a birthday or for the holidays, my dad would welcome me with a big, big hug, and say,

“Myyyy girlchild.”

And then he’d get that look, of course. My mom would have to tease, “There he is! DDD — Desperately Doting Daddy!” And that would only make him melt even more.

There is so much more to say about my beloved daddy. I could go on forever, and it still wouldn’t be enough time.

So I’d just like to say this:

Daddy, thank you for the fierce and endless love you gave me.

I love you, my DDD.