My dad ... he was somethin' else ... he drove me CRAZY almost all the time. But damn - he made me laugh, he made me think, and he made me a lot of who I am today. I've told many people on more than one occasion that "I do asshole very well" and there is no doubt that I get that from my father. He had a way of making you feel so comfortable but at the same time, when he left the room, you could just shake your head and think - what just happened here?? He paid attention. He listened. And he used his mind - sometimes too much - to rationalize a lot of things. He was a very, very smart man and even when he didn't try he was smarter than I.
My father had a rule or saying for everything. He would tell me that "if a person's shoes squeaked, they aren't paid for" (I don't get it either). "Never trust a person with two first names." "Always trust when a dog doesn't like a person" ... and as my friend Erin messaged me after he died, "never wash a coffee pot - just rinse it out," a tidbit he shared with her on her first visit home with me from college that she still lives by today.
It was on those tent camping trips that my parents taught me the art of losing with grace. Many evenings around the campfire were spent playing "Uno". My father - ever the competitor - would announce he was on his last card by saying "UUUUUUUUnnnnnnoooooo". And I would lose my shit. I'd cry. I'd be super mad that he had Uno and I didn't. And then everyone would laugh. And then we'd play again and he would do it again ...
Later in my life my father made some decisions that didn't sit well with me. He broke up my family and said some things that were really, really hurtful. His decisions didn't just affect his life, but they also had an effect on me, my brother, and my mother. I am pretty sure I swore to him that we were going to go our separate ways when he re-married, but as time passed, it became clear to me that I still needed my dad in my life. When my husband and I had our first child, it became important to me that Andrew know his grandfather. My dad was at the hospital at 7 a.m. November 10 - the moment I was admitted - and he stayed until the wee hours of the next morning after Andrew Jefferson arrived. He did the exact same thing for Davis Tilghman - capturing each embarrassing moment on his camera phone as only he could.
Where my father fell short in being a dad, he made up in being a "Granpa". It was like he was made for that job. There isn't a fart joke he couldn't wait to tell or a noise he couldn't wait to make just to keep my kids laughing. Each Christmas season he would spend a day baking our "Santa" cookies with the boys - a tradition that started before Davis was even able to stand. My kids absolutely ADORED Granpa.
My father had a rule or saying for everything. He would tell me that "if a person's shoes squeaked, they aren't paid for" (I don't get it either). "Never trust a person with two first names." "Always trust when a dog doesn't like a person" ... and as my friend Erin messaged me after he died, "never wash a coffee pot - just rinse it out," a tidbit he shared with her on her first visit home with me from college that she still lives by today.
My father also had two rules for his birthday, which happened to fall on December 26 - no birthday gifts wrapped in Christmas paper; and no birthday gifts under the Christmas tree. These were two rules that were to never be broken. EVER.
He loved sharing these words of wisdom as if they were absolute gospel. He also loved sharing stories about when he was younger and growing up in Caroline County. He would tell me about his days around Henderson and Greensboro. There's the story of a 10-year-old Carl Lee standing on the corner of Sunset Avenue and Main Street in Greensboro giving the "evil eye" to every car that passed by. He would imitate the look for me and I could just see this roll-y/poll-y 10 year old giving each car a one-eyed squint as they drove past. It was one of my favorite stories.
I remember the first time I felt the sensation of my "foot falling asleep". We were living in Greensboro, MD, on Barnard Avenue, and my father was getting me ready for day care. He was also getting ready for work and in hindsight I can see now that he was in a bit of a hurry. I remember telling him that my foot felt like there were tons of pins and needles pushing into it. I remember like it happened yesterday - we sat at the dining table in that little split-foyer dining room off the kitchen in the back of the house, my father pulled off my buckle shoe and rubbed my foot until the pins and needles had disappeared. As a 3 year old, what he did wasn't that big of a deal - he just made my foot feel better. As a parent, I now totally get it. We're so fucking busy in the mornings (at least we used to be) and we are always rushing about. It didn't matter how late he was or where he needed to be when, he still took the time to take off my shoe and help get rid of the pins and needles.
When I was not much older, my father introduced me to the art of eating raw oysters. We were living outside Greensboro, in what we call "the 313 house," and my father brought home a bunch of oysters to be shucked and eaten. He made them a bunch of different ways for us - baked with bacon and cheese (a recipe my brother has since absolutely perfected), and freshly shucked and sitting on the half shell ready for us to slurp up with some homemade cocktail sauce. I remember standing on a chair I had pushed over from the small kitchen table to the red Formica counter tops and leaning forward to reach the cocktail sauce. Damn those oysters hit the spot. My brother, mother, father, and I noshed until they were all gone. I couldn't have been older than 5.
We once took an RV trip to Gettysburg, PA. It was our first (and last) RV trip as a family. The first time we set up camp and realized we had to completely break down that freshly set-up camp just to go anywhere because we didn't have any other mode of transportation besides the RV was the kicker. I remember the tight quarters and the amount of time we spent playing 500 Rummy together and how we were ALL ready for that trip to end. We drove that RV all over Gettysburg - the battlefields, everywhere. I believe it was decided after that trip that we would stick to the tent camping we had normally done in Swallow Falls or Deep Creek.
My father and my brother had a different kind of relationship. While I was "Daddy's Little Girl", Brian was held to a high standard that my father had set that no one seemed to be able to meet. It was Brian's 18th birthday - October 10, 1989 - when we drove to the recruiting station in Easton and dropped him off to leave for the Marine Corps. My dad had a really hard time expressing his feelings about my brother, but I know that he was so extremely proud of him all the time. When it was time for Brian to graduate from Parris Island, my father stood at the top of the bleachers with a video recorder, capturing the entire program on tape. When the program was over, I turned back and saw my father standing at the top of the bleachers, one eye to the camera, and one fist raised in the air - celebrating the tremendous accomplishment of his only son. I know he didn't say it often, but I also know he loved my brother a lot. He just wasn't very good at telling him that. 
In May 1999 I moved to Charlottesville, VA, for a new job. Before my move, my father and I drove down to look for my new place to live. We drove all over that city - from Downtown Mall (near my office) to the Corner, looking for the best place for "his little girl" to live on her own for the first time. In one of the last neighborhoods we checked, we saw a postal worker delivering mail on his route. My father said "always, always check with this guy before moving into a neighborhood. They know EVERYTHING!" I'm sure this is wisdom passed down from his father ... we rented a cute apartment in that exact neighborhood later that day.
Not long after I moved to Charlottesville, my car battery died. I had double-parked at the post office to drop off some letters and boom! The car wouldn't start. I called my dad (of course) so he could help me figure out what I should do ... in the meantime I had it towed to the dealership. Instead of having that dealership overcharge me for installing a new battery, my father left his home after working that day and drove the 3-hour trip to Charlottesville to install a new battery in my car. We stood in the dark of the dealership lot, I held the flashlight while he changed the battery, and voila! A brand-new battery. We went for some warm Krispy Kreme donuts (according to the sign on the front of the donut shop) and off he went - making the 3-hour drive back home.
The winter before he moved to Savannah, my dad would come over each day after work and pick the boys up from day care. He had dinner with them, would help with any grade-school homework, and just spend some great quality time with them ... the boys loved it and I know it was something he missed once he moved away. Each summer the boys would go to "Camp Granpa" - they would spend a week in Savannah with my dad - and live. it. up. Bacon each morning for breakfast followed by a trip to Sonic for a milkshake for breakfast dessert. I remember complaining to my husband about the bad habits we were going to have to break after the boys had been at his house for the week. But damn - did they have fun. They relaxed, they played hard, they ate foods that were just terrible for them, they explored the coast of Georgia, they drove a giant riverboat down the Savannah River, and they laughed, and laughed, and laughed. I hope these memories are ones that my children will carry with them their entire lives.
A few years ago my family spent several days around Easter in Hilton Head. The drive from Savannah to Hilton Head was less than 45 minutes and my dad drove back and forth two of the days we were there. The first day he made it in time for dinner; we met at a Brazilian steakhouse and ate all the meat the place had. The next day he drove back up and spent the day on the beach with us. It was only April but the ocean was already over 85 degrees. We spent at least 2 hours in the water together - all five of us - enjoying the warm sea water, swimming in the waves, watching the boys ride the waves back in just to join us back out in the deeper waters ... it was the first time in I can't remember how long that I saw my dad relax and enjoy the ocean like that. What I didn't know then was that it would also be the last time we were able to enjoy that time together. We saw each other again after that trip, of course; but that time in the water - it's hard to describe just how wonderful that memory is ... even better than my dad fixing the needles in my feet, I think.
About a month before my dad died, I called him on the phone one random afternoon because my husband's car needed a jump start. Whenever we would put the chargers on the battery, they would spark - and that was stressing me out. Of course - Christopher couldn't believe I called him, but I am now so glad I did. It was the last time I would hear his voice. And though the conversation was short and sweet, it was just perfect. It was the kind of conversation I knew I could always have with my dad. He was always there to help when I needed it - even if sometimes I didn't think I needed it.
I miss my dad every day. And I know that will change and time will heal the wound. I'm saddened that I haven't been able to say the proper goodbye, but I'm comforted by the idea that my dad saw me at my best (and my worst, of course, but still). My dad saw me grow up. He walked me down the aisle. He loved my husband and my family so very much. And I'm so fortunate to have that. My dad was larger than life. His personality; his laugh; his whole person - he was just way too much for any of us. He was far from perfect, but he was still my dad. And I'm so thankful I was able to call him that for the last 46 years.