So, I’ve decided to take a detour.
I planned to write about Malala Yousafzai because she is a superstar in the inspiring teens universe, and she was just awarded the Nobel Peace Prize and the Liberty Medal. I promise to write about her soon, just not today.
Today is my father’s birthday. He would have been 94 years old. I’ve been thinking about him a lot lately, so I think I should just let it out.
My dad was the crazy product of an Irish-Catholic mother and a German-Lutheran father. His mother gave him his beautiful smile; his love of language, especially poetry; and his Catholic faith. From his dad, he learned that life could sometimes be hard, even unfair, but you just had to do your best and keep moving forward.
After his family and faith, my dad had three loves.
Music
Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart
Hearing a beautiful piece of classical music had the power to brighten even his worst days. He asserted that Germans wrote the best music and said that Mozart was his favorite composer.
When I hit my teens and became, according to him, “mouthy,” I pointed out that Mozart was Austrian. He said, “German. Austrian. Same thing.” I’m not sure the Austrians would agree, but I couldn’t convince Dad of that.
When I was in grade school, the Philadelphia classical music station (WFLN then; WRTI now) had a Saturday morning program featuring the music and biographies of the classical music masters. Dad and I would sit at the kitchen table listening to the show, and he would tell me why the slow movements were his favorites and why the Philadelphia Orchestra was the best in the world.
Dad’s love for classical music did not extend to opera, although late in life he condescended to listen to recordings of operas without the words. I never understood the point of that, but if it made him happy, who was I to criticize him?
Baseball
Cliff Lee Photo by artolog https://www.flickr.com/people/artolog
Dad’s other love was baseball. He was a lifelong Philadelphian and a diehard Phillies fan. Although I was a girl, because I was his only child, Dad saw no reason why he couldn’t take me to Phillies games. This was pretty radical thinking in the Sixties, at least in our family.
When I was very young, we would take a bus to 21st and Leigh Avenue to the old Connie Mack Stadium. Then the Phillies moved to Veterans Stadium, and we had to take a bus and a train. But we still went, and I continued to fill out the scorecards and aggravate my father by asking lots and lots of questions.
He liked to pay attention to every second of the game. We had to buy our hot dogs, sodas, and other snacks before the game or from the vendors who patrolled the stands. Dad NEVER left his seat once a game began. “You wanted to see the game,” he’d say, when I would beg for ice cream. “Watch the game.”
Chocolate
Chocolate Bunnies Domenico Bandiera Photography https://www.flickr.com/people/66135347@N00
My dad’s third love was chocolate. A perfect day was a day when he had chocolate milk for breakfast, chocolate cookies or Tastykakes with lunch, and a chocolate dessert after dinner. Around 9 p.m., he would head for the kitchen to get a bowl of ice cream—chocolate, of course.
Chocolate candy was not safe in our house. Although my mom always bought several bags of candy when Halloween and Easter were on the horizon, invariably, the week before the holiday, she had to go back to the store. Dad had eaten all the Hershey bars, Milky Ways, and chocolate-covered bunnies intended for trick-or-treaters and Easter baskets.
So, Dad, here’s to you. In your honor, I am having chocolate cake and ice cream tonight. Wish you were here to enjoy it with me.
Coda
My all-time favorite novel featuring a father and daughter is To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee. (Heck, that’s my all-time favorite novel, period.) I also love Ramona and Her Father by Beverly Cleary.
What are your favorite stories about your Dad?
What are your favorite novels featuring daughters and their dads?