Happy Birthday, Papa!
Today, my weekly positive is the easiest it has been ever. Today is a tribute to the world's best dad, who just happens to have a birthday today!
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| May 1995- I'm probably trying to get away with something sneaky; and he is probably going to let me. |
If anyone were to describe what I was like when I was growing up, saying I was a complete and total daddy's girl would be the understatement of the year. Not the spoiled kind who gets everything they ask for because they cry a fake tear or throw enough tantrums. I was the kind of girl who was absolutely 1,000,000% spoiled by my dad's love, and in turn had nothing but love and respect for him.
As the first-born, dear-old-dad didn't really know what to expect when I came into the world in September 1986. He admits that even though I was two weeks late, he and my mom had forgotten to buy me a baby blanket, so he ran out to toysRus when mom and baby were resting on the day I was born to get me one. I'm not even a little embarrassed to admit that that same blanket is still sitting right next to me in this bed as I type this blog entry.
Because I was first-born, when I started talking (pretty late in the developmental scheme of things because my mom was always speaking German to me, while my dad and everyone else was speaking English- that can get pretty confusing pretty quickly!) and started with the ma-maaaa (as most children do for Mommy) my parents decided to let it stick. Mama is German for Mother, as Papa is German for Father. Instead of trying to get me to say da-da over and over again, they opted for Papa, to honor my mom's German roots. (For those of you who don't know, my mom was born and raised in Germany and didn't move to the US until her late 20's for a temporary assignment. Long story short, temporary assignment turned into long-term, long-distance relationship, marriage, house in the suburbs, two babies, and a dog. Now THAT is the American Dream) I always loved that I had a special name for my dad that none of the other kids in school had, and I still love calling him my Papa, even though through the years it has become slightly more Americanized and now sounds more like pu-pu.
He was the one who worked all day, came home to kids fighting, dog barking, phone ringing, wife stressed trying to make sense of it all (I feel like I'm taking these lyrics straight from a country song) and still came busting through the door singing Hello, Dolly! every single night. My favorite part (and the part he always emphasized the most) was "It's so nice to be back where I belong!" I would always run to him and demand "ups! ups!", begging for him to pick me up. We were one of those lucky families who got to see our dad in the morning before school started, because he worked less than a mile from the house. In the summers, Mark and I used to bike over to the office (through a secret short-cut path in the woods) to have lunch with him. My dad walked us to the bus stop every morning for the first few years of school (even though it was just to the next-door neighbor's driveway, not even 100 yards down our not-very-busy street) or, if he drove us to school, always made us give him a kiss before we left the car. In my middle school years, I acted like it embarrassed me, but secretly I always loved this tradition we shared.
He was the dog's master and best-friend; and no matter how cold or rainy or snowy, Papa and Nugget would go out every single night around bedtime to walk around the house a few times. I used to love going out with them on summer nights and sitting on the hill in our front yard watching the stars. The first, and only time, I ever saw my dad cry was in 2007 when he and my mom told me we would have to put Nugget down after almost 14 full years of having her grace our lives. (Time for a new pup yet?!) I am so thankful that he knew the exact-right time to bring Nugget into our lives and complete our family: Thanksgiving Day 1993.
As I got older, he taught me to drive and manage my money, never allowing me to go overboard on a single purchase. He gave me my passion for the Red Sox and taught me what baseball was all about. He helped me pack up and move back to Stonehill for four years in a row, even though I know it broke his heart every time. He let me work at his company for a few months after I graduated from college, even though I know they didn't need the help- which in turn gave me the opportunity to spend as much time as I could with Andrew the summer before he started BOLC training in November 2009.
He loves me and respects me. He tells me constantly how blessed he has been to have me as a daughter and I, in turn do not tell him nearly enough what a joy it has been growing up with him as a father and a role model. He pushes me to do and be my best, even when I give him a hard time; and encourages me to always explore all of my options. He encourages me to be independent, but is always there to back me up when I need him.
And, I am so thankful that he survived (and passed with flying colors, I might add) that moment that I am sure every father dreads; somebody coming along and asking for his daughter's hand in marriage. I am so thankful that Andrew asked for his permission (well, blessing I guess) to marry me. In fact the first thing I said to Andrew (after I was done crying and saying "YES" a million times) was "did you talk to my dad about this?" I couldn't have imagined going home without first knowing that my dad had given his official seal of approval. I know that he was probably more shocked than I was about the whole engagement (because let's face it- I had been warned that if I dropped any more hints about getting married/engaged before deployment, Andrew would make me wait until we were both practically geriatrics before he proposed) but he was so excited and thrilled for the both of us. It is not going to be easy for either of us when the time comes for him to give me away: prepare yourselves for the two of us sentimental saps, blubbering like idiots and crying our eyes out when we walk down the aisle. But that's what I love about him, his undying love and support for me no matter what.
So, Happy Birthday, Papa! Thank you so much for all the experiences you've provided me with, places you've brought me, lessons you've taught me, love you've shown me and everything in between. You and Mama have been so supportive through this whole military adventure that has become my life, and I will never be able to thank you enough for that. You have welcomed Andrew into your family as one of your own, and that means the world to me. I could go on and on about family traditions and holidays and every special moment we had in our lives, but what it all boils down to is: I love you so much, and could have never had a better dad.
