Daily Newsie

Confidential to my father: If you haven’t opened your gift yet, don’t look!!

Waiting in the lobby of Carter’s Tattoos.

Cole applies the design onto my leg as I begin to wonder what exactly I’m doing here.

After four other tattoos, you’d think I’d be used to this feeling by now.

Cole pins down my leg so I don’t thrash around and screw everything up.

Closeup action shot.

Is it over yet?

I love you, Daddy.

That’s red ink, although the way my leg hurt I thought it was blood.

Happy Father’s Day, Daddy!

(That lyric is from James Taylor’s My Traveling Star as performed on One Man Band, and it seemed to me a perfect line to capture my father.)

Every year I go to the card store and stand in front of the racks, perusing Father’s Day cards. I know I’ve found the perfect one — or two — when I start to cry like a girl in the middle of the aisle. I can’t help it. My dad is my hero, and this is the one day out of the year I can pay a few bucks for Hallmark to say what I can never articulate.

It was only a few years ago that I realized my father worked two jobs to support his family — factory worker by day, Realtor by night. I remember counting the Band-Aids on his fingers at the dinner table and visiting the Century 21 office, but somehow I never put the two together. He certainly didn’t act like he had two jobs, at least not in front of his children. He used to take my brother, Betsy the dog and me to the creek in his old blue truck, graciously allowing me to pretend I was driving over the rutted carnival grounds on the way to the water. If I was ready when he got home from work, and if I had proper shoes on instead of my jellies, he might take me for a quick ride on the back of his motorcycle before dinner. He helped me balance on my purple two-wheeled bicycle until I could ride it without training wheels. That’s what stands out throughout my childhood: He was never too busy, never too tired to do something fun.

In my teenage years, we would sometimes sing together, although not as often as I would have liked. He taught me to saddle a horse, to drive a stick shift, to take care of the family dog. Without saying a word, he showed me what to expect in a husband — someone who brings coffee every morning, helps with the dishes, and means every part of those vows. He cheered for me when I ran cross-country, sacrificed who-knows-what so I could study abroad, bought CDs of choir performances (and actually listened to them), sat through endless 4-H horse shows in the sweltering sun, rushed to the emergency room on his day off when I burned my leg with hot glue, and gave his permission for me to marry the only man I’ve ever met who comes close to the standards my dad set. He knew when to let go and let his little girl make her own mistakes. He is amazing, and I am so proud to be his daughter.

Happy Father’s Day, Daddy. I hope you like your cards.