Written Fall of 2013

On this Nov 7th, I celebrate you, Daddy. Had you lived, you would be 95 today. I wish I could go back in time and enjoy being your daughter again. I loved your sense of humor. When you felt good, we all felt good. Whether it was a game of Dictionary or meeting an old friend, your smile lit up the room and your laughter was full-fledged, no holding back. Now, often you poked fun at others, like telling friends at the end of a visit that I looked like your aunt Lizzie when she was in her 70’s, but your off-handed humor always brought ripples of laughter. (I wish I had known your aunt Lizzie because I’m sure I really look like her now that I’m in my 50’s.)

But more than your laughter, I miss your travel lust and your sense of adventure. When you put on those 1950’s style sunglasses with an Hawaiian shirt, we knew we were in for the time of our lives. We would have followed you anywhere as exciting as you made it sound and as talkative as you were on the way there.

I also miss your sense of style. I see it when you were younger in your tie pins and your Fedora hats. Where did you ever get that flair for the unpredictable and the unknown in your protected Mennonite world?

Where are you, Daddy? I miss you.

“Oh, earth, you are too wonderful for anybody to realize you. Do any human beings ever realize life while they live it–every,every minute?” Emily Webb, Our Town