Monday, December 14, 2009


It’s been four years since my father died which makes this time of year bittersweet for sure.

When someone dies, you struggle to remember things they said and the sound of their voice but one thing that I remember vividly is my father standing (with his police uniform on) near the basketball goal at my junior high school.

I also remember traveling with my father to go to my brother’s out-of-town football games.

As a matter of fact, Sunday football is not the same anymore. I used to chill out with my father and watch games on Sunday.

For my father, I was a bit too unglamorous but I was still the apple of his eye, his Abby doll and Spoke which is such a curious nickname.

Sometimes I think that my father loved me in spite of himself and, as my therapist friend says, that in spite of love is the best kind.

My father could be such a rascal and I sometimes felt like the parent in the relationship, but I want to thank my father for showing up for my games, for making me laugh and for making me feel loved so that I didn’t have monstrous daddy issues.

Once my father asked me to go and do something for his sister that he had promised to do. He said well if you go, it’s like me going because you’re a part of me.

And what if I can’t figure it out (some turkey propane fryer situation), I said. You’re smart, you’ll be able to handle it, he replied.

I knew that my father was being cunning but I did the task for his sister anyway.

And in spite of love? It lasts a lifetime. Slimmer and a swimmer, I would say that my father would like the new me. However, he really liked the old me.

I don’t know where my father got the nickname Spoke from but it makes since:
Spoke (noun):

1 a : any of the small radiating bars inserted in the hub of a wheel to support the rim

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