A Different Kind Of Love Story

My father was a superhero. No really... he truly was. Daddy could leap in with homework help and kisses. He had a never ending supply of hugs and stories to tell. The man was amazing and boring and way before his time. Today is my father's 87th birthday. I always think about him, today is no different than most... except it's his birthday.

My father's name was Daniel. He was born the 7th child in Jackson, Tennessee on December 13, 1933. His parents that already had 5 living children but had lost the child between him and his older sister, Cookie. It was a hard growing up then and dad only shared bits and pieces of his childhood and none from that time. He would often say " that's where I started, who knows where it'll all end up". The memories that stuck with him, and us, were all after they migrated north sometime in 1938 when he was 5. His parents were no longer together and his mother moved to Cleveland to find work which she did as a domestic. While his mother worked, daddy was often left with his older sisters. Being the only boy in the house, he was quite a handful but doted on by my aunts. He was their "Sugarbud" as his grandmother used to call him... the nickname stuck his entire life.. and they spoiled him rotten as only big sisters could.

He had the usual early years mashup of going to the military, marrying his high school sweetheart, and having a son. He got divorced and, few years later, met and married my mom. My mom was a divorcee with 2 small children and really wasn't interested in dating which made him work even harder to get her to go out with him. I"m glad she did... I'm number 3 of the 4 children they had together which made 7 kids in all. This is an old school black family... there are no step or half children. We knew how things went but we were never allowed to look at each other as anything but siblings with no qualifiers or distinctions.

Daddy was a renaissance man that was way before his time. He loved to cook. He helped mom with us kids. He would press and curl our hair and help mom clean. Dad gave my mom something many of her friends didn't have... autonomy. My mother was free to go with her friends for a spa day or to Atlantic City for a weekend without my dad being upset. "Married women didn't travel without their husbands" my mom would say, " but Dan paid for the trip and wanted me to relax and enjoy" and so she did. I saw him love and nurture my mother in a way I have yet to see since his passing, nor have I experienced myself. It was a beautiful way to grow up and I'm grateful for that.

Dad was the type of father that you could talk to about anything and I mean ANYTHING. Boys, my period, math, mean girls, heart breaks, plans, hopes and dreams. It was my dad who cried with me when I found out I was pregnant at 16. It was my dad that helped me make the decorations and cater my wedding reception. It was my dad that always encouraged me to think further. To be a better person. To treat everybody with respect. To not bind myself to anything that required blind loyalty... especially if it required sacrifice on my part. To be loving and fierce and that it was ok to have emotion... even the bad ones. He was the best friend a little nerdy girl like me could have. He saw the beauty in my weirdness and taught me to do the same.

My father's love and impact extended beyond our household and into the entire neighborhood. If he saw you in passing you were greeted like an old friend.When you came to our house, you became his child, his friend, his family. There were many days we would come home to see our friends sitting on the porch with dad, " tasting a lil something". which really could have been anything depending on life stage. As kids it was kool-aid and a snack. As adults, it was the back patio, some steaks on the grill and a few drinks to get the convo going. My dad was the dad that would slide the kid down the street $20 so they could go to the movies with the rest of us. He was the guy that would show up with a trunk full of groceries for your family or palm you some money because he heard you may be having a tough time. No thanks accepted and he better not hear of it again.

To be honest, I will always feel a little guilty about how things occurred when my father passed away. I know I'm not responsible but I still feel I let him down as irrational as that is. My mother had been so sick for so long that we really weren't paying as much attention to dad's health as we should have been. As I should have been. I really should have paid more attention. I helped dad take care of mom until she went into a care facility. He then went every single day to visit her. My younger brother, youngest daughter, and I were with my dad the day things got crucial for him. As we were entering the building to go see mom, dad suffered a heart attack in the lobby. He was rushed to the hospital, coded and was revived and scheduled for surgery the following week. Once he was stable enough to visit he actually apologized to US and told us to apologize to our mother for not going to see her. The following week, on November 2, 1995, my father passed away having never awakened from his procedure. He was just short of his 62nd birthday. Being the man that he was, my father took care of my mother for five and a half years after he passed away and only stopped because she went to join him. I'm sure he apologized profusely for leaving her alone so long upon her arrival.

His funeral was a wonderful testament of who he was. It was packed! So many people I knew, and just as many I didn't know, had come to pay their respects that it was overwhelming. So many introductions! Long lost relatives, childhood friends, coworkers, people from the neighborhood, and our already huge family had the funeral home ready to burst. Everyone had at least 3 stories. Everybody wanted to provide a hug and comfort us. My mother had been transported to the service and she sat between her childhood best friend Aunt Elaine and my father's first wife, Aunt Mil. The only bit of disturbance that day was there were so many that wanted to be pall bearers that we had to step in and choose. We went with blood family, but the love was so apparent that it became clear we were all family... blood related or not.

For the first 25 years of my life, I watched my dad be someone I could be proud of. Someone I'm still in awe of. Someone I truly wish I'd had more time to get to know. Everybody loved Danny. Everybody still does. As much as I have missed his presence every single day, I have that to comfort me. 25 years later, I can celebrate this birthday by just giving a small glimpse of him while also keeping a promise. My father was really a superhero. Ask anyone who knew him and they'll say the same thing.

Happy Birthday, Daddy!

Year #25.