The Last Time with my Dad

I'd call and say, "Happy Father's Day."

"Same to you," he'd shoot back and quickly move on to talk about other things. He'd tell me about lunch with the boys, the latest jokes he'd heard, Georgia football or about the kids.

Those last years I talked to him pretty much every day.

If I didn't call him, he'd call me and God forbid we didn't hook up because he'd take it out on Mom who had nothing to do with any of it.

The other day my son Jeremy posted on his Facebook page, "Today would have been a good day to head over to Dutch Island and watch golf in the basement with Granddad. Wish he was still around on this Father's Day weekend."

I burst into tears when I read it.

I miss my Dad.

I drove him nuts as a kid. He never anticipated a long haired, music loving, hippy looking, girl crazy, marginal student who forever got in trouble.

That's not all true.

I inherited being girl crazy from him.

For reasons David and I could never figure out, Dad was crazy about Angi. When Kristen was born he was beside himself and Maggi and Chelsea made him a very proud grandfather. He would laugh that I live in a house full of girls now.

I utterly confused him when I went to Seminary though he made regular treks to Louisville, Kentucky where we'd drive to Brown County Indiana and drink beers together. Once he realized I was still going to drink beer with him he was OK with Seminary.

He'd call me all of the time at Union Mission asking me to do something for a bartender he liked or a Maintenance worker who needed counseling. He'd already told them that I'd do it so of course I had to do it. He was getting me back from driving him nuts as a kid.

The last time we had beers together was in Sandfly where he went every day to the Drift Away Cafe to spend time with his mates. Bob Colvin and I met there because we were working on lots of things together at the time. Dad was elated and bought whatever we had.

He'd asked me to hang around after we were done so I walked up behind him. Whoever was sitting on the bar stool beside him was asked to move.

"This is my son," Dad explained. "You probably know who he is."

He probably didn't but in Dad's mind he did.

The guy left and I sat beside Dad. He ordered us two beers which was funny because he didn't drink beer any more.

We clicked mugs together and sipped quietly, talking about things we'd already talked about.

Today, I've got two mugs in the freezer. They'll frost over when I pull them out in a little while. I keep his picture in the kitchen where I spend most of my time when I'm inside. He's looking at me now. Then I'm going to pour us two beers.

I'm going to toast him and wish with everything inside of me that he was toasting me back.

I love you Dad.

Happy Father's Day.