My dad turns 80 next year. He is a bull. Looks like mafia. Avid golfer and talented haberdasher. Drinks scotch every night and sneaks smokes when my mom isn’t watching. He is also one of the best things that ever happened to me.
My mom married him about two years after my daddy passed away and right before my 11th birthday. That summer, she signed me up for a theater class and had him drive me to it. Our bonding was formed over the breakfasts he would take me to before that class. It is now a 30-year tradition, our father-daughter breakfasts.
During that summer, I felt a place in my heart that was so empty and so starved to love a dad again just break open. He has always loved me for exactly who I am, cultivated my moral compass and debated my opposing political views. He is, simply, the best.
So when Jaden turned 6 years old on Thanksgiving this year, he thoughtfully gave her a set of very nice kid’s golf clubs, and took her to the range to give her the inaugural lesson. I have to say it was one of the greatest moments EVER.
Jaden loves her Pops. And my dad has taught a lot of kids over the years so he was pretty great about showing her how to line up her hands, place her feet, bend her knees, etc. Her admiration in how she looks at him is so close to my own feeling for him that sometimes it is painful to watch. Painful in that heartbreakingly beautiful kind of way. So after three years of blogging, I thought it was time to write one just for you, Pops. I love you.