Or at least, it's his birth-date over here.
Recently I've been remembering a lot about times spent with Dad in the Great Northwoods. I can't say exactly how many times we've been "up North" and I couldn't point out more than a handful of places on a map that we've been to (because we've been to many and because my memory stinks). I know that Dad's taken us, as a family or one-on-one or in small groups up somewhere since I was very very small. So some memories are blurry and post-natal and deeply ingrained. Others, fortunately, are more clear and recent.
Last time I went camping with Dad it was just the two of us. I just finished college and had no job, and it was early summer or late spring time. We drove a long time. Maybe 8 hours? 12? (like I said, my memory...) and we camped somewhere near the Canadian border. Aside from the two ancient fogies who rented us their campsite and possibly one or two other groups, we were the only humans around for several days.
The stars were visible. The air was clear. We brought along too much junk food and ate all of it. I got to see a loon go fishing in 3 feet of water right after I got done bathing in it. We picked wild fruits growing on tiny islands in the middle of a lake. I don't remember what kind of fish we were after or how many we caught. Really I remember just images and smells and such. But my favorite part of the memory, as with any memory of being in the wild, is the part that includes my earthly father.
Jason and Kerri and I have been lucky to have such a dad as ours. He's humble and honest and generous and loving. He isn't a perfect human being, but he's never hidden that from us, and so we've never had to carry a lot of baggage with us into our adult lives. He taught us to pray and he showed us what it means to repent. He's hard working and fair. And he has a way with words that inspired me to study linguistics in college, if you can believe it.
Unfortunately, today I have no alchohol in the house. Not a drop of liquor. So I'll have to raise my glass of tea instead, and next chance I get to mix a Brandy Ol' Fashioned ("Sweet"), I'll drink it in his honor. If any of you reading this know my Dad, wish him a happy birthday when you see him. And if you can, give him a hug. If there's one thing I hate about being in Japan today, it's that I can't grab a hold of my dad and give him a hug and tell him I love him in person.
Happy Birthday, Pop!
