A recent survey found that dads often get the short end of the stick when it comes to gift-giving on Father’s Day. It seems most of us spend more on our mothers than our fathers. Many people say mothers are easier to shop for, and seem to appreciate gifts more than fathers.
But for those of us who have lost our fathers, or are losing them slowly due to dementia, it is too late to worry about something as trivial as gift-giving. The best we can do is share a loving memory of our fathers, to offer to the world a glimpse of what this special person meant in our lives.
Two loving memories come to my mind this Father’s Day. The first is the lengths my dad went to in confronting the family of the bully who pushed me down at a preschool Halloween party. Dad wasn’t going to let anyone hurt his little girl! The second was just a year or so before Dad began his battle with dementia. He had filled out a prayer card for me, relating my struggles with Celiac disease. I had no idea he was paying attention when I discussed my condition.
After all of those years, Dad was still looking out for his little girl.
What are your favorite memories of your father? How do you honor him on this day?
6 responses to “Sharing a loving memory on Father’s Day”
You are so right. Memories are the most precious gifts.
There are so many memories…we lived in Los Angeles and my dad didn’t drive (!), so we spend all day one 4th of July traversing LA by bus in search of fireworks…his day off and he spent it on the bus so I would have some sparklers; that is who he was. I recall some of these memories in the post on A Swift Current called “Themes and Variations Part One”. More recently I wrote about losing him when I was 22 (“To Understand”)…today I tried to tweet that essay…I am slowly learning Twitter (!) and hope by sharing my thoughts, like you are here, I honor him.
Maybe my writings are an overdue gift, as I too never knew what to get him, though as a child, a recording of the 9th inning Sandy Koufax’s perfect game was hugely appreciated!. I notice on Facebook many people are sharing photos and tributes and I think it is lovely; sort of a village square for the 21st century. This day is bittersweet but a celebration too. Thank you for your contribution to the dialogue and the opportunity to reminisce, Hallie
Thanks for sharing, Hallie! I am going to check out your posts.
We lived in the Los Angeles area as well. That’s interesting about your dad, my dad did not know how to drive until he met my mom. She was used to guys with nice cars, and Dad wanted to impress her, so he got a buddy of his to teach him how to drive. However, he never learned how to drive on the freeway. He always drove like a “grandpa” slow and careful. We used to get honked at a lot. 🙂
Thank you for taking a look (and liking!) A Swift Current! The post that talks about my dad was, I just realized, almost exactly one year ago…it is in the archives for June 13, 2013. I didn’t remember posting it for Father’s Day, but I must have. It was a lead in for Part 2…my mom’s fantasies in her dementia that he was still alive, and how some themes/fantasies just seized her mind for months at a time, not to be contradicted…
I hope by sharing our experiences here we can help other people who are going through it now, and also help them feel less alone.
My dad didn’t drive as he had been in an accident when he was really young; my sister and I never learned the details. But he was petrified of driving, and so we navigated LA through public transportation, and the kindness of friends! If he had ever tried, I am sure he would have been “slow and careful” like your dad…
I appreciate getting to know you here, Hallie
The last year of my father’s life, he loved telling me a favorite memory for him was burying my first cat with me in the backyard. I’d put my cat in a shoe box and made a cross from popsicle sticks. My father said, “Nancy, would you like to say a few words?” He loved telling me how I poured my heart out in tribute to my cat. It’s now one of my favorite memories of my father.
How sweet! Thanks for sharing your memory.