for daddy

This one is for Daddy.
A huge thunderstorm rolled through recently and it brought to mind one of the
favorite storms of my memory. It was on a trip to the beach with my daddy and
brother. We took his 1972 cutlass convertable (my favorite car of all time! I have
a picture of her in my photo album) - she was a gigantic all white beauty with
leather seats - and before the days of worrying too much about wearing seatbelts.
So we could sprawl all over it, I was in the back seat scooting from side to side
with the wind blowing my pigtails all over the place and my older brother in the
front seat looking at the map for our course. We arrived to the beach later than we
had expected that night, so it was close to twilight.
Daddy wanted to go straight to the house he had rented for us to get settled and
have dinner - but my brother and I poured on some serious begging and pleading to
get him to take us directly to the beach first. During our pleadings we promised
most solemly not to get wet that night and to wait until we came again the next
day. (A five and six year old should probably not be trusted when they make such
promises.) :)
My brother and I went straight for the water while daddy was trying to find a
flashlight, shoes off and totally breaking our promise of about two minutes ago.
Daddy came down and was standing just at the edge of the tideline. He was wearing
jeans and insisted that he did not want to be dripping wet when we got back to the
car. So to Daddy's credit, he wasn't dripping wet when he returned to the cutlass -
he was utterly and completely drenched!! With the passage of the years I can't
recall exactly how it happened but somehow Daddy was waist deep in the surf, my
brother and I holding his hands bobbing up and down to keep our heads above the
waves, grins plastered on our faces.

Thankfully Daddy was always fairly good natured about such misadventures, he dug
out some towels for the seats and off we went to our weekend cottage. I must have
been pretty tired by then because I don't have any recollection from the rest of
that evening.
The next day I have remarkable clarity of ... because when we woke up, it was
raining! Talk about a crushed five year-old heart, looking sadly out the window.
Daddy came over as I stared forelorn out the window and he gave my shoulders a
squeeze, "It will clear up - don't worry. Come and have some breakfast."
(Part of my overwhelming disappointment was because we didn't see each other that
often, my brother and I lived mostly at our mother's house. So when we had the
chance to spend time with my Daddy I looked forward to it and wanted it to be
perfect. To say that I am a 'Daddy's girl' may be an understatement :) as many of
my friends have commented on since I am over ... 29 ... and still call him 'Daddy'.
But truthfully, who cares - I like it and hopefully he does too.)
Back to our story, we all sat down to pancakes and bacon - while the rain poured
on. By the end of breakfast I was asking to go to the beach anyway, it was just
rain ... - but with the thunder and lightening Daddy prudently said, "Just be
patient". (this character trait is still elusive to me, let alone to my five year-
old self.) True to form Daddy didn't get flummoxed by having two excited and now
disappointed children trapped in the house for what was supposed to be a beach
vacation. Which leads us to why this trip remains in my memories as one of the best
weekends ever!
"Each of you go pick a favorite book that you brought, grab George and Christopher
too (our favorite stuffed animals), and meet me at the front door." My brother and
I dashed off to our rooms and we all gathered at the door a few minutes later.
Daddy had a blanket drapped over his arm ... I was puzzled - how could a picnic be
ok, when the beach was not?!
"Come on guys." he opened the door to the wide grey porch that I hadn't really
noticed before and hanging from the tall ceiling was a white wood slat swing almost
as wide as the porch. "Hop up.", he said and sat in the middle of the swing so my
brother and I could climb up on each side of him. He spread the light blanket over
all of us and softly pushed the swing with his feet, us in the crook of each arm.
He quietly read 'Curious George' and 'The Little Bug Who Went Ka-choo' as the rain
showered around us in a gentle curtain of silver. It was such a fine feeling of
being warm, loved, and peacefully content that I have never forgotten it.
In difficult times I have often closed my eyes and gone back to that morning; the
fresh smell of a summer shower, the timber of my Daddy's voice as I rest my head
against his chest, and the quiet way his love came through in such a simple hour. I
have tried to remind myself frequently in my own parenting that while grand
presents or bold gestures are often appreciated - they are seldom as remembered as
time spent and simple moments of love and care.