Papa John: The 62nd Year

So, hopefully, I can actually write this without sitting here crying. I don't wanna cry. But I'm a silly, silly girl... I am my mother's daughter, after all (as everyone keeps telling me!)... and I am quite emotional. So, I won't be surprised if a few tears fall while I'm sitting here in my Carolina blue room (that my Dad painted for me) in the house I grew up in (that my Dad built for us) typing about how much my Pop means to me. Why do you guys have to go and have birthdays anyway? And why do I feel like I need to write about you when your special day comes around?

OK, OK... biting the bullet...

There's a tiny little t-shirt somewhere in this house. It used to be in this drawer right next to my bed where some of the tiny little-person tees were kept for a while. And since my mom (okay, and me... I'm the same way... I do not deny any of the similarities... I accept the fact that I'm a carbon copy) doesn't throw anything away, I'm positive that it's still around here somewhere. (Side note... Mom & I were sitting in Haley's room tonight just chatting and she made a motion toward a pile of junk Haley had gone through and laid out... possibly to take to Goodwill? Anyway, there's a stack of no-match socks on top. There's a tiny child's sock laying there. WHEN, please tell me, was there a baby in this house that would've worn that sock? Lord have mercy, I bet that thing is nearly 30 years old. AND there's no mate. WHY, Mom, WHY would we need to keep that? But she loves it. She says, "Awww", and the sock is still sitting there.)

Okay, wow, I just opened this drawer. It's still home to t-shirts... special ones that have my name on them or certain commemorations for special events. There's my b-ball practice jersey from ACHS, my Class of '95 senior shirt (Final Tour!), the Lady Panthers name/number shirt we wore on some game days, the softball jersey from that rockin' (APW?) team that won the championship, a Tweety Bird tiny tee with 'Heidi' screenpressed on the back, several other 'Heidi' creations for a 2-5 year old, awww... here's my monogrammed red sweater that I had SO MANY pictures taken in (MOM!), and yes, yes, here it is, the one I was thinking about:


No matter how big I get (shut up please), I am always my Daddy's Little Girl. My Pop is always in my head and my heart... no matter what the situation. They're his words that reassure me, that encourage me, that give me hope. It's him I hear telling me to be happy but do the right thing. It's him (and Mom, of course) I want to make proud.

If you know my dad, you know he's full of advice. He doesn't push you to do things his way, but he lets you know what he thinks is right. (Although... he doesn't talk a lot, so I'm not sure how he conveys so much information in such few words.) Anyway, he's a wonderful advisor. He'll never push you to do something... only gentle nudges and maybe a few leading questions thrown in for good measure. For me, he's pretty much the only person I can take a compliment or a criticism from. It's overly-sensitive-city with most other peeps, but when Dad says something, I listen. And he doesn't hurt my feelings... because I know he's in my corner and only wants what's best for me. Don't get me wrong. I know other people are there too, but he's the one holding the stool, taking out my mouthpiece, offering the water bottle and the spit bucket, doctoring the cuts and bloody noses, and lifting me up to get me back out there for the next round. (Sorry... I'm not a boxing fan... just seemed like the right analogy for the moment.) Other men in my life have wondered how I can bristle at something when they say it and take it as gospel when the same words come out of Dad's mouth. Hello... he's my Daddy. And I'm his baby girl.

Today, my Papa John turned 62. "I'll never be 62 again," he said. He's always saying stuff like that... kind of morbid, kind of funny, wholly sentimental. Don't let him fool you, he's a great big softie. I could never understand my friends who seemed to be afraid of him (well, not really afraid, but adequately, possibly overly, respectful & stand-offish). Yes, okay, he did threaten to jerk the phone cord out of the wall. But, I was on the phone awfully late; and I got off, didn't I? And yes, he is taller than many of us, his muscles are bigger, and his hands are rougher. But he's worked every single day of his life! And when it comes time to comfort or encourage, he sits down. Duh.

Dad always has a "motto" or a "mantra" for the moment. If you've spent any amount of time with me at all, you've heard me say, "My dad always says...". And believe me, every single time (even when I'm just repeating him), his words are relevant, meaningful, and have the ability to flip your thinking on its ear. I hope my to-go container of my Dad-always-says quotes never runs dry. Because even if he's proving me absolutely 100% wrong (which, of course, happens all the time... and then I have to go pout about it), he always teaches me an important lesson.

You may think being so smart is a full-time, serious job; but leave it to Dad to be FUNNY too. He loves to laugh, and he loves to make you laugh. He seems to be a silly-joke-magnet (did you hear the one about the pilot?), and he often forgets how the rest of it goes. But he can usually deliver a pretty good punch line (even if you have no idea what the rest of the joke was about!).

Anyway... you know I have more I could say; but I think I've done enough damage for the evening. You get the point, I'm sure. I ♥ Daddy. Most definitely. And Dad, even though I sometimes have trouble saying the words, I LOVE YOU and I appreciate every single thing you've done for me. If I am anything at all, I owe it all to you & Mom. Thanks for being so good to Mom, Haley & me... and HAPPY BIRTHDAY!