Ode to my Dad

 Dear Barry, 

 

   I just assembled an IKEA end table and night stand. Yes, you can probably sense the smugness in my satisfaction that after a mere three hours of arduous labor, I was able to assemble an equivalent to a color by numbers piece of furniture. And don't give me too much credit, remember the time change and that it's almost 11pm here. Yeah, not much pride should be had here.

It's crazy, ya know. My dad had me 5 years younger than I had had Matilda but he had his $#!t so much more together. Besides making the best move in his life marrying my mom, he already had a good career, a successful side hustle(before that was even a thing), and could build an addition on his house. I barely assembled this piece of furniture. In all honesty, I had to disassemble and reassemble it due to my inability to follow the pictograms on the directions. 

Meanwhile, my father went on(while parenting two children at the time) to buy a house and then a second, get his Masters(before the Academic Arms Race era in which we currently reside), proceed to have two more children and become a Superintendent of schools.

All the while putting his family in front any/all of his own dreams.

Dad, an avid photographer, nearly disappears from view due to the nearly constant documenting of each of his children's lives(well before the advent of cameras on our supercomputers we have in our pockets). His photography hints at a love of the outdoors but that had to take a backburner to each of his children's numerous, and often disparate activities. None of which was more time consuming than basketball. A hockey fan and player, dad nonetheless, crossed over the Rubicon and converted to an devoted(if not boisterous) basketball fan. Teaching himself as he taught us, he coached our teams and watched every game he could, even when my younger brother and sister played collegiately meaning he'd be going hundreds of miles to see a game. 

Remember when when I was singing along to a song, you made a comment about my tone. I think it was something like:  I like how when you attempt to sing different notes you just sing louder or softer. Yes there is a good chance, in addition to being an incompetent handy man, I also am tone deaf. Imagine my dad's chagrin in hearing me (nearly constantly) signing off pitch all day and many long car rides. My dad, a musician like you, probably had to hold back everything he could from just yelling at me to stop the GD singing. But he never did. He never made me or my siblings feel like our little lives were anything other than the single most important part of his every day. He and my mom made us feel like we could do everything and achieve anything. 

I know I'm rambling on here so thank you for your sustained reading efforts. I just wanted to let you know that I am trying. Every day, I am trying to be half the man my father is to Matilda and baby Danny(Kenny has assured me that WILL NOT be his name). 

First things first: I'm going to try to cut down my furniture assembly time.

Until next time,

Danny

PS. Here are a few pictures from our recent trip to Amsterdam and Antwerp. Can't wait for you to join us over here.