My dad has crossed into his eighties! He surpassed the United States’ life expectancy! He was diagnosed with an incurable cancer in 2020. We thought we would lose him soon after because when the docs say “go enjoy your life” it’s a grim sign. When it seemed that my dad was actually going to hit a new decade, my mom decided to plan a surprise party. Frankly, this guy in particular hitting eighty is a BFD.

We’ve had many scares and close calls over the years. We laugh that he gets patched up and keeps on going. Much like that battery bunny. I gave a toast at the party. (At which he was completely surprised.) We didn’t jump out and yell “surprise” because we didn’t want to risk a cardiac event. He walked in and greeted the person whom he thought we were celebrating. And slowly came to wonder why certain people he knew were at her party…

When he finally realized the party was for him, he humbly and beautifully accepted the love that was directed at him. The toast I wrote was about celebrating life. It’s something my parents taught me. I knew I couldn’t say anything too mushy, because I had to be able to read it. And forget it, if my dad tears up, so do I. So, I kept it light.

Today, as I reflect on his life and legacy, I have to say more.

My parents hosted a lot of parties and dinners. There were gales of robust laughter wafting up to my bedroom. My parents threw parties for any ole occasion. In my life, I love to gather with friends and make merry.

My dad is a really funny guy. He can rip out a pun and deliver it deadpan, or with a twinkle in his eye, depending on how funny he thinks it is. He used to make us kids laugh when we had him to ourselves. He’d tickle us and make these ridiculous faces and talk in silly voices. I used to laugh so hard it hurt, I couldn’t catch my breath. In my life, laughing is my favorite activity.

My dad taught me about music. My parents always had music playing in the house. They covered the board with classical, opera, rock, pop, oldies, and so much easy listening. I used to conduct imaginary orchestras in the living room with chopsticks or play the air guitar on my dad’s leg. I was allowed to swear if it was in the song – and my mom wasn’t around. In my life, I am so deeply inspired by music. Also, I swear like a sailor, even if my mom is around.

My dad is an avid boater. I grew up cruising around Lake St.Clair, up the St. Clair River and out to Lake Huron. When we’d land somewhere or even drive somewhere with a pool, my dad would get in the water and toss us into the air, to be welcomed back to earth by the water. I would laugh so hard and get water up my nose, and then beg for him to throw me again. In my life I find that jumping into water is the closest to freedom I can find, it reminds me of some of my happiest memories.

My dad taught me that you aren’t what you wear. He used to show up to executive lunches in Birkenstocks and pants of various colors with silky button down shirts. He’d step out of his luxury car and people would scratch their heads. He didn’t look the part of a successful business man, but he didn’t care. You can put a thug in a tux, and he’s still a thug. In my life, I don’t waste too much time on my appearance. I am who I am regardless of what I wear.

My dad always made me feel safe. When he drove us around I knew we would get to where we were going because he had an impeccable sense of direction in his head. (I did not inherit this.) He was wise about so many topics, so I felt like he knew how to get us out of any situation. (Like when our boat engine stopped working and we were drifting in Lake St. Clair and I was so scared we’d be lost as sea (I was little, okay?) and I fell asleep telling myself “there’s no place like home” and then woke up and we were practically to our destination.) I knew that with my dad around, I’d be taken care of. In my life, I took care to ensure that my own children felt safe and protected, because I valued that so much.

My dad was my first hero. My first love. My first teacher. Is any human being perfect? No. But there can be perfect relationships, wherein you can see how your own limitations are met by someone else’s strengths. And how your strengths complement someone else’s shortcomings. And together, you can be whole. This is the greatest gift my father ever gave me.