The Coolest Dad in the Universe
He was 50 years old when I was born,
and a "Mr. Mom" long before anyone had a name for it. I didn't know
why he was home instead of Mom, but I was young and the only one of my friends
who had their dad around. I considered myself very lucky.
Dad did so many things for me during
my grade-school years. He convinced the school bus driver to pick me up my
house instead of the usual bus stop that was six blocks away. He always had my
lunch ready for me when I came home - usually a peanut butter and jelly
sandwich that was shaped for the season. My favorite was at Christmas. The
sandwiches would be sprinkled with green sugar and cut in the shape of a tree.
As I got a little older and tried to
gain my independence, I wanted to move away from those "childish"
signs of his love. But he wasn't going to give up. In high school and no longer
able to go home for lunch, I began taking my own. Dad would get up a little
early and make it for me. I never knew what to expect. The outside of the sack
might be covered with his rendering of a mountain scene (it became his
trademark) or a heart inscribed with "Dad-n-Angie K.K." in its
center. Inside there would be a napkin with that same heart or an "I love
you." Many times he would write a joke or a riddle, such as "Why
don't they ever call it a momsicle instead of a popsicle?" He always had some silly saying to make me
smile and let me know that he loved
me.
I used to hide my lunch so no one
would see the bag or read the napkin, but that didn't last long. One of my
friends saw the napkin one day, grabbed it, and passed it around the lunch
room. My face burned with embarrassment. To my astonishment, the next day all
my friends were waiting to see the napkin. From the way they acted, I think
they all wished they had someone who showed them that kind
of love. I was so proud to have him as my father. Throughout the rest of my
high school years, I received those napkins, and still have a majority of them.
And still it didn't end. When I left
home for college (the last one to leave), I thought the messages would stop.
But my friends and I were glad that his gestures continued.
I missed seeing my dad every day
after school and so I called him a lot. My phone bills got to be pretty high.
It didn't matter what we said; I just wanted to hear his voice. We started a
ritual during that first year that stayed with us. After I
said good-bye he always
said, "Angie?"
"Yes, Dad?" I'd reply.
"I love you."
"I love you, too,
Dad."
I began getting letters almost every
Friday. The front-desk staff always knew who the letter were
from - the return address said "The Hunk." Many times the envelopes
were addressed in crayon, and along with the enclosed
letters were usually drawings of our cat and dog, stick figures of him and Mom,
and if I had been home the weekend before, of me racing around town with
friends and using the house as a pit stop. He also had his mountain scene and
the heart-encased inscription, Dad-n-Angie K.K.
The mail was delivered every day
right before lunch, so I'd have his letters with me when I went to the
cafeteria. I realized it was useless to hide them because my roommate was a
high school friend who knew about his napkins. Soon it became a Friday
afternoon ritual. I would read the letters, and the drawing and envelope would
be passed around. It was during this time that Dad became stricken with cancer.
When the letters didn't come on Friday, I knew that he had been sick and wasn't
able to write. He used to get up at
Throughout my four years of college,
the letters and phone calls came at regular intervals. But then the time came
when I decided to come home and be with him because he was growing sicker, and
I knew that our time together was limited. Those were the hardest days to go
through. To watch this man, who always acted so young, age past his years. In the end he didn't recognize who I was and would
call me the name of a relative he hadn't seen in many years. Even though I knew
it was due to his illness, it still hurt that he couldn't remember my name.
I was alone with him in his hospital
room a couple of days before he died. We held hands and watched TV. As I was
getting ready to leave,
he said,
"Angie?"
"Yes, Dad?"
"I love you."
"I love you, too,
Dad."
Angie K. Ward-Kucer