68

Today is my dad’s birthday. He would have been 68.

Many years ago, I think I was 11 (but could have been 13), my dad told me that instead of a birthday gift, he wanted to go fishing. Just the two of us. We went dip netting in Soldotna. Two or three days. He was excited about the fishing and father-daughter time. I was mostly excited because (at the time) Soldotna was the only place in Alaska with a Dairy Queen and I had been guaranteed a blizzard. I’ll let you decide who had their priorities in order!

It wasn’t the most successful trip in terms of fish. We caught one, in the very final hours of the trip. But our few days there gave my engineering-minded dad the opportunity to study the processes and dipnets of the people who were catching fish faster than the blink of an eye, and when we went back as a family a few weeks later – newly crafted dip net in tow – well, let’s just say my dad’s observations served him well.

But I’m getting sidetracked…on this first father-daughter weekend, the fish might not have been raising their metaphorical hands for us to catching them, but we had fun. Sometimes I was out on the shore with him. Other times I stayed in our pop-up camper, happily cleaning it and making THE MOST ridiculous birthday gift out of the various odd items I'd gleaned from the camper's tiny cupboards. (side note – that was I think, the only time in my entire life that I ever happily cleaned anything)

 On his actual birthday instead of a cake, we picked up a gigantic cinnamon roll from the grocery store. Before we ate it, I took a picture of him, sitting at the camper’s table. It’s the picture you see here; it’s one of my favorites.

Since my dad died, I’ve written numerous things about him. When I look through them all, this particularly weekend is mentioned almost every single time. That makes a sort of sense, to focus on the moments and memories that always seem to sparkle when you look on them.

Not every memory is a happy one, of course. My dad wasn’t perfect, but no one is, and I was/am no picnic myself. But he was, I think, the perfect dad for me and my sisters. I miss him every day. And I am grateful for him every day.