Today I write about my Dad. I should say, my Daddy, he loved it when I called him Daddy. My Daddy went to be with Jesus 3 years ago today, the day before my 30th birthday. I don’t like saying I lost my dad on this day. Number one because he wasn’t lost. I know where he is. He was broken, very broken when he was here and now he no longer is. But secondly, I lost my Daddy long before the day he died. I cannot pin point the day or even the month of when I lost him. I think he slipped away sometime between 2007 and 2008. There were a lot of things that went on with my Dad and his health and his mind in that time. I think that was about the time I lost him. I chose not to think of that person as my Daddy. I do not dwell on the fact that he never got to know Maddie or even Eloy and that he never would get to meet Tripp and Mallory. I am ok with that, I am OK with pretending that was a different person in the last years of his life. There are moments when I get mad, at God really, for that hard time he had to go thru but then I remember how perfect God’s plans and timing are. But that is not what this is about.
Today is about my Daddy. The man I grew up with, the man who really was the first man I loved. My Dad and I are and were nothing alike. He liked race car driving (watching, not actual driving) and classic rock. Those things weren’t my things. But no matter what I was into, my dad acted like he was. I don’t remember a time when my dad was not around and I mean REALLY around. He never missed games or performances and I knew I could always call him for a ride or to complain about anything.
My Dad was totally into me. When I was young I never realized how this made him such a profoundly great Dad. I didn’t know how ridiculously lucky, scratch that blessed I was to grow up with a man in my house that loved me more than anything. One could argue my mother would always be my dad’s true love (do not read into this, I am talking about when I was growing up and my parents were married) but I would argue I was his true love. This is how my Daddy made me feel. When I walked into a room and my Dad was there he made me feel like I was the most beautiful girl, smartest girl, funniest girl and most talented girl not only in the room but in the whole world. People who know me now, can now blame my Dad on how conceited I am.
I am sure I got in trouble with my Dad, I just don’t remember it. If it happened it wasn’t often or I just blocked it out. When I got older as a teenager and young adult my Dad grew a little dependent on me and I think that just furthered my belief he thought I was the greatest. I know my Dad was upset when I told him I was pregnant at 16 but all I can remember is how proud he was of Tate and how good he was with him. My Dad was a small guy. Even his presence was small, but in a sweet dependable way. All through my life he made me listen to HIS music and would talk about endless facts of the band mates of The Doobie Brothers and The Eagles and everyone else in their musical genre. When I was small we would wrestle in the living room and he would hold me down and lick my face. It was so gross! But so fun. I can still smell his spit. I know it’s gross but I love that memory.
His favorite cake was pineapple upside down cake and he loved the number 3. He was the third William and his nickname Trey literally meant 3. When he watched Nascar he was obsessed with Dale Earnhardt who drive the number 3 car. He taped every Nascar race, and again would talk about more facts on racing and the number 3 car than one person should ever know. As much as he loved racing he was a HORRIBLE driver. And I mean BAD! There were also passions I never got to see or experience with him. He talked of surfing and riding bulls but his illness limited those types of activities.
He always seemed like a little guy with a big life. I really hope that is how he felt. I hope he knew he made me big and my life big. So today I write and think and talk about my Daddy. The first man I ever loved.