Happy Father's Day

I didn't get to see my dad today, and being Father's Day and all, I've been thinking about him.

There's a story my dad loves to tell about a conversation we had when I was about 2 years old. We were alone (I still don't know how that happened) and sitting down to eat lunch. He said, "Maury will you say the prayer?" I responded, "I'm not Maury." You see, I was in my fanciful phase when I would go into character and refuse to answer to any name but the one I'd chosen for the day. He was used to this behavior and said, "Ok, Cinderella, will you say the prayer?" Wrong again. He tried every name he could think of and was wrong time and time again. Finally, he asked, "Well, who are you?" I responded, "I'm Dumbo." Relieved to finally know who I was for the day he asked, "Dumbo, will you say the prayer?" According to my father I gave him a scathing look and replied, "Daddy, elephants DON'T PRAY!" There you have it. Our relationship in a nutshell.

My dad and I haven't always seen eye to eye, and he hasn't always "gotten me" (and vice versa), but I've always known that he loves me.

When I was born girl #4 in the days before ultrasounds, instead of being angry, (like my mom who didn't even want to hold me she was so mad I wasn't a boy) he was thrilled to have another girl. When after a couple of days they still didn't have a name for me, it was my father who came up with mine. I'm the only child in my family who's entire name was chosen by Dad.

When I was afraid of rollercoasters he forced me to ride "The Colossus" at Magic Mountain because he didn't want me to live my life in fear. Even though I cried the entire time in line and assured him that I'd hate him forever, I'm grateful he did that.

He patiently taught me the rules of baseball and football, and then talked sports with me just like he did with my brothers. In fact, it was my father and I who decided in the early 90's to be 49er fans. I was always the only one among my girlfriends that understood what was going on in the game when we went to Dodger games in high school, and in college I was often the only girl watching Monday Night Football. While this didn't help me get any more dates, it did bring me a lot of joy.

When I recieved my patriarchal blessing my mom was sick with a migraine and he and I went alone. I remember going to El Gallito afterwards and him proudly telling our LDS server "My girl's going on a mission!" I was only 15 and had six years to go, but he was so excited, and he never made me feel like my mission was less important than either of my brothers'.

When I wanted to go to BYU instead of Ricks like the rest of my siblings he worried and fretted that I'd feel lost and alone, just a number out of so many, but when I got in and won a few scholarships he was proud and happy.

When I served my mission in New York City I know he worried the entire 18 months. My father is a wonderful story teller, a talented writer, and a skilled surgeon, but a letter writer: he aint. Yet,while I served my mission he wrote me at least once a month, catching me up on the Dodgers, the 49ers, or the BYU Cougars (depending on the season), and kept me up to date with the latest Seinfeld episode. Every letter he ended by telling me that he prayed for my safety, often multiple times a day.

When I returned to BYU and pursued a career in Secondary Education, my father urged me to instead become a college professor. He just KNEW I was too smart to teach High School. I disagreed completely, but love him for thinking that.

My dad may not "get" me, but I've never doubted that he loves me. Thank you Daddy for always being there. I have never doubted that you love me and would be there to catch me if I fall. I love you