Oh, Dad. What can I say about my dad? There are memories going back 40 years, so starting is probably the hardest part. I don’t have a ton of solid memories from my very early years – just a few vague ones. I remember I was a daddy’s girl through-and-through. I’m not sure exactly when that changed.
I remember after mom and dad divorced (I think I was about 6?), he’d come to Sacramento to pick me and my brother up. We’d drive down to his Aunt’s house in San Francisco, where he was staying in the basement apartment. Driving in the S10, I was always in the middle because I was the smallest one. We’d blast the Beatles and the Beach Boys all the way across the Bay Bridge. I’m fairly sure that’s where my love of both of those bands comes from lol.
After Auntie passed, Dad bought a house in San Mateo, and I’d come stay for a week or two in the summer. I remember him coming home on his lunch breaks and teaching me how to heat up canned chili on the stove in a double boiler. I read all day, then played Nintendo with him after he got home from work. It was pretty chill.
When I was a little older, he sold the San Mateo house and moved back to Sacramento – right next door to my aunt (my mom’s sister), which most people would think was weird, but it never was to us. I loved being able to escape my aunt’s demands for help with yard work (I love her but hate yardwork lol) to go next door and play N64 with Dad. It was a pretty good life for a teenager – all the snacks at Auntie’s, all the video games and a pool table at Dad’s.
My parents were those strange people that worked better as friends than as a couple, so it was never odd to us that he was right back in all our lives – mom had a key to his place, he had a key to ours. They were great friends.
When I was 16, after he met my stepmom while on vacation in Australia, we definitely had some growing pains. She didn’t understand the humor-backed relationship I had with my dad, and I didn’t understand the cultural norm she was used to – kids only being respectful to elders, never really joking around. Needless to say, she and I didn’t get off to a great start. I’m not going to get into details (Dad and I have worked through it all now), but the 3 of us just weren’t compatible as things stood at the time. Dad and I had a big fight and didn’t speak for about 3 years. When we finally did talk again, he had moved to New Mexico with his wife. I flew out for a visit and Dad and I started the very long process of rebuilding our broken relationship, and I worked on building a foundation for a better one with my stepmom.
The year I got pregnant with Harry, they had already planned their move back to New Zealand. We never really talked about reasons, but I imagine she missed home. They lived there for about 7 years when she suffered from a brain aneurism that she unfortunately didn’t survive. By that point, she and I had gotten fairly close, so I’m just glad I got to see her amazing side before she was gone. But that left dad in New Zealand – he had plenty of friends, and his in-laws were very accepting and welcoming, but it wasn’t the same without her. So we all started talking about the possibility of him moving back to the US. Ken and I talked about it long and hard – and decided to ask him to move in with us. So he did. He moved back in February 2016 (almost 10 years to the day after my failed wedding), and took over daycare duties – it was Dad and Skipper, the dynamic duo. He loved putting her in the stroller and taking her for walks, letting her get messy eating chili, and reading her books or playing with toys on the floor.
But, Ken and I don’t tend to stick with the status quo for terribly long, so we all knew that was going to be a short stint – Dad would be relocating (yet again) with us to Washington. Pretty much everywhere we’ve lived since then, Dad has been with us. Either down the hall, or in the apartment next door.
This poor guy – he is kind of a neat freak. And he’s the unfortunate roommate that is stuck in a house with four ADHD brains that don’t know how to not clutter every surface. He’s great – he does the dishes (because we suck at chores), all the yardwork (which I already mentioned hating to the core), and generally puts up with all the chaos that comes with our quirky little family.
After my stepdad passed (you can read more about Podunk in another post), my dad being the kinda great guy he is, offered to help my mom when she wasn’t sure if she had enough money to move to Washington. He didn’t end up needing to, but the fact that he offered stays with me – after 35+ years of being divorced, he still wanted to help her. That says a lot about a person.
Anyway, Dad and I have a much better relationship now than when I was a teenager – it’s been hard won, but I’m glad we’re where we are now. He picks on me constantly (out of love I’m sure), and vice versa. The running joke in the house is that nothing could possibly be as old as my dad. He even got a coffee cup from Skipper for Christmas one year that had a picture of a T-rex skeleton and the caption “Grandpa-saurus. Like a regular grandpa, but better.” And another for father’s day: “I’m not old, I’m classic.” And “Dear Grandpa, Thanks for being my grandpa. If I had a different grandpa, I’d punch him in the face and go find you.” You can read our love for him between the lines of his coffee cups.
Dad has this amazing way of stepping in whenever I need help – whether I need/want it or not lol. But the last ten years has shown me that he’ll be there for me no matter what.
My dad might be stubborn and frustrating and old-fashioned. But he means well, and isn’t so closed-minded that he can’t adapt if he needs to.
Dad, I probably don’t tell you this enough, but you’re a pretty awesome dad. And you make a damn fine grandpa, too.
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