Today
is the five year anniversary of the passing of my father.
I am thankful to be
related to my Dad.
As I sat three
toddlers on my knee pulling them out of the tub and wrapping them in two
towels, rub, rub, rubbing their hair to get it dry dry dry, our tradition is:.
"Nice and warm... Nice and dry!"
This is what my Dad
did for my little girls, and I am guessing for me, as I hear my mother repeat
the story about the agreement that she would have with Dad at the end of one of
his long days at work or graduate school.
"Would you
like to clean up from dinner or put the kids to bed? "
Mom chose the
dishes. Dad chose the kids. He would bathe them and rub rub rub them dry
dry dry, and then launch them free to run around the house before sweeping them
up, helping them find jammies, then tucking them into bed. "This little piggy went wee wee wee wee,
all the way home!"
I remember an
"aha" moment during the three years I spent at my parents' home,
watching my Dad revel in this ritual with my two babies, rub, rub, rubbing them
dry (it continued to the last baby and continued as they toddled, worked piano
fingers, and worked to stump him at Mastermind and then Rook; pound in
Paris fence holes, tangle with weed wackers and sprinkler heads or choose a
geology teacher.) Dad was a hands on, engage-and-encourage type of person. I think the epiphany I experienced is that he
loved me as much as I saw him love my tow-headed children.
It is "my
turn" now (words I hear from one of his youngest great granddaughters, this
one, age two, declare over play dough.) Yes,
"my turn"... to engage, to encourage, to rub, rub, rub, and help toddling,
dancing feet find their way to what suits them best..tuck, tuck, tuck, tuck,
tuck, tuck!
"All the way
home!"
Missing Dad, hoping to honor him today!!
