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I Don’t Remember The Gifts I Got For Christmas
Today would have been my father’s 70th birthday. And like every year, my eyes well up with tears as I scour through old photos looking for the perfect one to post. It takes awhile. He never did like taking pictures. He was more of a behind the camera man.
In his younger years he was a photographer. His old camera is in my posession to this day. As kids, my sister and I would look at the negatives and developed small squared pictures with the white frames. There were dozens of them. And without knowing, we were seeing a side of our dad that we hadn’t seen. What his interests were before becoming a father.
As a father, to me he was the greatest. Every year we received Christmas and birthday gifts via he and our mom. Needs were met. Food on the table. Clothes on our back. And the kind of love that’s gentle yet disciplined.
There’s so much I remember about my dad. Us watching football and basketball games while rooting for opposite teams. Him barbecuing in the summer’s heat, with his newspaper and radio listening to the ball game. His love for my mom, sending flowers to her job on Valentines Day and anniversaries. The way he provided for and loved us.
Those are the things I remember. Not Christmas gifts.
His guidance is what carries me through my adult life. His expectations of me as a daughter, and when I became a mother to his grandson. The sacrifices he made ensuring his family was good. A book could be written about the things he taught me. Showed me.
I’m thankful for it all.
Happy heavenly birthday Dad.
Till I see you again. ❤️
