My Dad

I have learned over the years that the kind of bond my dad and I have is one that can never be planned. It happens, or it doesn't. What I had with my dad was something that most people would wish for, dream of, and try to buy if it were possible.

I always felt safe and protected and loved with my dad. My earliest memories with my dad are of the formative years in the garden, the yard, the basement and just driving around. I just know I hung out with him whenever I could, and it made me happy. He took me with him when he bowled in a league. I sat attentively in the seat, and my reward was always pop and a candy bar from the vending machine.

I spent countless hours with him at Eddy's Bakery, and he always allowed me to mix the "sponge" for the next day's work. I fiddled around in the scary basement, and tinkered around on the dock and upstairs in the office. I loved every minute of it, and he allowed me free reign. When we were finished with that task each week, he would always stop at a bar and grab a beer for himself, and an Orange Crush and peanuts for me. Life was good.

We rode motorcycles and snowmobiles together and drank "Whitsell's Brew" in the cold. He pulled me on my skis with the snowmobile. We loved to pal around. Mom was never an outdoors person, so we were more than happy to spend the time together… just goofing around and having the times of our lives… the two of us. When we had our days of river rafting on the local rivers, we never realized the danger. It was just fun. While we probably should have heeded mom's "wet blanket" advice that it was too dangerous, our curiosity and fun-loving spirit always won out. Crazy? Yep, but we loved it. We have decided over the years that the river rafting was unquestionably our most unsafe, but our craziest was when we set an alarm clock in the 1960s to get up and go out with our flashlights searching for UFOs. We never knew what we really expected to find with those flashlights, but when people just "get" each other, it doesn't matter.

When we found our love of nature, we went on many, many hikes in search of wildflowers we tried to identify. Sitting on the rocks with our flower books, we never really wondered how we could spend 30 minutes on one blasted flower before giving up and saying it just wasn't in our book. And all those hikes… at the end of the day, the car was always "just around that next bend". It became our mantra. And when we were gasping for air in our climbs, neither of us would scream "uncle", and we'd make a lame excuse about how we needed to just take time to enjoy the particular view. We were on to each other, but we'd just snicker and leave it alone. The time we threw a weed called "sticky pods" at each other amused us as they stuck to our clothing. It was funny until my eyes swelled up and I had to see a doctor. I guess we never knew when to quit.

Dad and I also spent time up on the trail he originally adopted in the Superstitions. About 10 years ago, he started asking if Dean and I would take it over when he was no longer able. He turned it over to us about 5 years ago, and we are carrying on the tradition.

We also spent many hours on birding excursions. We loved to go to the Arboretum and the Gilbert Riparian area, but we were content to talk about birds on the back yard patio. As a hawk would fly overhead I'd quiz him on whether it was a Cooper's Hawk or a Sharp-shinned Hawk, and he'd smile and bluff his way through it. Any time I got a new "life bird" or "yard bird" my first call was to dad. We'd talk at length about birds, often discussing specifically where we each saw our first Baltimore Oriole, or Magpie. When we went birding, if we couldn't identify a particular bird, we'd either call it a new species or ADBB (another damn brown bird). It was another way to share our lives.

When I take my research trips or vacations, I call to "check in" and let him know that everything is fine. I'd tell him exactly where I was and he'd reminisce about specific roads and towns he was familiar with. I know he'd often go to his computer or maps and find the place. From him, I get my natural curiosity and thirst for knowledge and life's experiences. I say I never want to be just a "spectator" in life, and I appreciate that gift that my dad gave me. Thanks, Dad.

I love my times to go out and see mom and dad, and I enjoy those days with them. We played many, many games, but more importantly, we had the opportunity to talk at length. Mom would leave the house to play bridge with directives for starting dinner or unloading the dishwasher. She'd come home four hours later only to find us plopped in the same places as when she left. She'd "tisk, tisk" about nothing being done, but I will never regret the invaluable time we took together, talking about politics, religion, food, his life, my life, memories, and a lot of nothing. We called it "solving the problems of the world". I treasured every minute. We just had a connection that we never questioned.

After dad nearly died three years ago, he acquired a new perspective on living. He was appreciative and thankful for the extra time he had. We called it "the bonus". There were at least 8 times in those three years that he told me, with tears in his eyes, that there were two reasons he made it through. I'd respond (as though it was the first time hearing it) with "Really, and what are those two things?" He'd say because of you and your mother. You took such good care of me and I appreciate it, and I'd have never made it without that care". I always corrected him and said it was one thing that did it… his determination and discipline and will to live. He had his version and I had mine. We talked about him getting older and his concerns about his health and being cared for. My response was always the same "I'll always be there for you and I will never leave you". He'd say "I know".

I never wanted to have regrets when dad died. I hear it too often from people. One day he and I agreed that when he's gone, I can never tell myself I didn't love him enough, or spend enough time or say what I needed to say. I quit buying birthday and Father's Day cards for him two years ago, and only wrote my feelings in their place. My heart directed me to the right words. From the time I was a little girl, I believed my dad could do anything. I later learned that he made such a huge impact on my life that I didn't think I would or could ever continue if he was not in my life. When I'd tell him that, he'd tell me I was strong and that I would always have Dean.

About 6 months ago, he asked me if I thought at his funeral I could play Amazing Grace on my violin. I told him I wasn't sure. I decided three days ago that I cannot, but he probably already knew I wouldn't be able to do it, and I know he understands.

Yes, I always felt safe and loved and there is nothing left unsaid. Love forever, Valerie

email me at: Valerie.Boman@cox.net

Last updated January 24, 2009