Happy Birthday, Dad

The top ten things about my Dad:

He was handsome.

He liked to go places, not to get away but to go places. He'd be happy to take you along if you wanted to go, too. He took me along all over the western half of this country.


He had a sense of humor.

He always remembered my birthday. This might not seem like a Herculean task, but for some reason my actual birth date is harder than normal for people to remember. My own daughter thinks it's the 22nd. Even though he didn't sing for any other reason, Dad always sang "happy birthday" to his kids. As teenagers we groaned, but I saved the answering machine tape of the last time he sang to Cassie. I like remembering I have it.

He liked to surprise us, whether a doggie sweater for Christmas, a tiny wooden piano or showing up at the airport disguised with a wig and an eyebrow pencil moustache.

Would you hand your child to this man? We kept our purses clamped to our sides and almost flipped when Bob handed his baby to him. It was hilarious and it was all caught on tape.

He loved his kids and he loved their kids.




He could hypnotize a chicken. (Unfortunately I don't have a photo for this one.)

He loved my Mom

from beginning to end.

(I'm not sure why I like this photo so much, but I do. Maybe because of the way Dad's looking at Mom.)

You may have noticed that's not ten. I could go on and go way over 10 like I usually do when I make a "Top Ten List," but when I came to the last one, I thought, "That's it. That's the best thing about Dad."

Happy birthday, Dad. I miss you.

Love,

Gail