Happy Birthday To My Daddy!

Today is daddy’s 73rd birthday! I wanted to bake him a cake, but when I talked to mama, she said that he is working in Tennessee and she has no idea when he’ll be back. Could be today, could be tonight. I know what you’re thinking…He is 73 and still working? Yep, you heard me right. My daddy has been a hard-worker for most of his 73 years. He said that he “might” retire in January. We’ll see. The man loves his job, he loves the guys that he works with, who call him “Uncle Mack” He loves mama, the woman he works for, to give her everything she needs and most of what she wants. He enjoys spoiling his grandchild to pieces with unnecessary gifts. He loves his loyal 13-year-old dog, Rocky. He still enjoys fishing, and hunting with boyish-like passion. Last but not least, he loves gardening in the summer and winter. Daddy has a full and happy life. He taught me to love others, unconditionally, to judge not, and over and over, I heard him say, "if you can't say anything nice, say nothing at all." Daddy practices what he preaches. In a nutshell, in my eyes, he's a Saint.

Daddy gets up at 4:30 in the morning, walks the dog, and makes coffee for mama. Goes to work and gets there at least an hour before everyone else, so he can read the morning paper and have coffee made for the other guys when they arrive. It isn’t unusual for daddy to work an 80-hour week. But the average workweek for daddy is about 50-60 hours. My daddy is the only person I know who actually whistles as he closes the door behind him on his way to work. Then, ten to twelve hours later, comes home, only to still be whistling. Lighthearted and happy. He has many friends, and I’ve never known of him to have even one enemy. He makes you think of Andy Griffith and sounds just like him when he talks. Everyone who meets him, loves him. I often wonder if he’s really that happy, or if the happiness of others means so much to him, he forces himself to not display anger or sadness in front of us. Of course, I've seen him cry on many occasion. The death of a loved one. When mama is sick, when Stephen was in the hospital. But for the most part, happy. During my entire childhood, I can only remember pushing daddy to the limit one time. I didn’t want to leave my grandmother’s house. I wanted to spend time with my cousin, Beverly. Or, Bevy Anne, I called her in those days. I was having a tantrum and started to kick the dashboard of his brand new Ford pickup. He pulled over and “tapped” me with his belt. HaH! It didn’t even hurt, but I screamed the loudest, blood-curdling scream I could and then I acted like I was hyperventilating while arguing my point. He stopped at Dairy Queen and filled me with hot fudge cake and vanilla ice cream till my broken heart was content. [God, I was a brat] Mama would have said, “You better hush that crying, or I’ll give you something to cry about!” Maybe I had a good balance between them. (?) Mama was the one who punished me. Daddy was the one who made up for it by giving me bear hugs, and tickling my feet. I’ve thought for years that daddy was passive, and mama was aggressive and I turned out to be passive-aggressive. LOL. Really. That’s what I do when I get angry. I don’t get mad, I get even. Oh, how evil! Hah! And y’all thought you knew me so well, didn’t you. My family reading this, is laughing and saying, “Yeah, that’s the truth! Don’t pee in her cornflakes. She might pee in your cornflakes, for real!” ::evil laughing as I am typing this sentence::

In ending this birthday tribute to my daddy, I wish I was as talented as SloMo so I could attach the song, “What a Wonderful World” by Louie Armstrong, my daddy’s favorite musician and very favorite song. I remember as a little girl, daddy carrying me around or holding my hand, singing that song, as we walked through his vegetable garden. Then, after several choruses, he’d just whistle the tune, “what a wonderful world.”

…And, it was. J