Sep 22, 2008

Loving Your Dad

A co-worker of mine is getting married in January.  She has this wonderful surprise in store for her father that is going to take place during the wedding reception.  I can't give away her secret, but I will say that hearing her gush about her father makes me pine for my dad something fierce: this upcoming November marks the 10th anniversary of my father's death.

Marybeth adores her father and I love hearing about all the things that she gets to do with him.  This afternoon she sent along a link to a whole bunch of photos she took over the weekend of her fiance Chris and her Dad at The New Hampshire Motor Speedway.  Apparently Chris and her Dad are big Nascar fans and she wanted to surprise them both with the opportunity to get out on the track to burn some rubber.  They couldn't actually drive the cars, but they each suited up and got sped around the track for five minutes going over 125 mph.  She described her dad's excitement during the whole experience and listening to her just made me nostalgic about my own father because we had that kind of relationship.

I wish I could tell people sometimes to really stop and think what their life is going to be like when one or both of their parents die. I want to tell them to really savor and appreciate having healthy parents who can enjoy seeing their children's accomplishments during adulthood and be there when they might need a shoulder to cry on because nobody can understand them quite like they do. 

My friend Marybeth gets it. It's clear that she thrives on having such a strong bond with her dad.  It makes me so happy to know that he'll be in attendance in January to walk her down the aisle when she marries Chris.  I cannot wait to hear how stunned her dad is going to be over the surprise she has in store for him after the wedding.

I admit that it's hard sometimes to hear all the anecdotes about Marybeth and her father because it reminds me that my own stories with my dad have already been written.  But for me the important thing is to never lose sight of the fact that I was fortunate enough to have had them in the first place.

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