On January 31st, 2021 I got COVID for the first time. I was too sick to even get out of bed and sick to my stomach for exposing my at-risk grandparents. I used all of my strength to sit up in bed, wipe my tears, and blow my nose. My window casted a bright light into the room, as the sun reflected off the fresh fallen snow from my neighbors rooftops. I mustered up enough energy to throw my legs over the bed, peel myself out of the comfort of my sheets, and limp my way over to the window to catch a glimpse of the white winter scene. As I looked down into my backyard, I found my dad in his winter boots that go up to his knees and his Chicago Bears beanie (or “stocking cap” as he would say). He was making me a snowman. I opened the window and shouted down to ask him why: “So you can look out at a friend to keep you company.” He continued to work in the 12 inches of snow and 10 degree weather to make my new friend. He gave him two stick arms, two rock eyes, and the Bears stocking cap from his head. We named him “Ro” (short for coronavirus).
My dad is a character. He is the youngest of five siblings. He grew up in Dubuque, Iowa and was a menace to the Catholic school system. He has many nicknames, all of which I don’t know the origins to including Tut, Skinny, and Bird. When he calls me on the phone, I always answer with “hey girl!” to which he replies with a laugh and a “hey girl!” back. He loves ice cream (even though he claims it doesn’t love him back), making faces at babies in restaurants, posting “jokey jokes” on Facebook, and getting free items after donating blood. Although he is a twin, there is only one of him.
My dad is someone you want to have in your corner. He is still friends with the boys he went to grade school and high school with. When I asked him the secret to sustaining friendships for 50 years, he said genuine effort. They now live all across the country, and even the world, but I’ve watched them drop everything when one of them is in a time of need. He has nicknames for these friends too: Greek, Bear, Bronco, Onionhead just to name a few. My mom didn’t learn their real names until they needed them for wedding invitations.
My dad is the giver. We have a saying in our house and amongst our family friends: “Len’ll do it!” It started off as a joke as my mom would volunteer him to do anything from picking up 30 birdhouse kits for Girl Scouts to playing Joseph in our church’s annual Bethlehem Walk. Now, I understand that truly, anything anyone needs: he will do it. When I was little, I watched my dad get home from work and spend hours helping my sister with her math homework, practicing patience and kindness. In sixth grade, he would spend his weekends taking me to basketball tournaments across the Chicago suburbs, volunteering to man the scoreboard when I didn’t see a second of playing time. He’d rub my back as I cried in the front seat on the way home from the games. For the past year and a half, he has been to every single doctor’s appointment with my mother, holding her hand as she walks in, deciphering all of the medical jargon, and updating me and my family as often as he could.
As the most prominent male figure in my life, my dad has shown me what a real man looks like. He is confident, funny, and motivated. He is also vulnerable, honest, and kind. My dad has shown me how to be strong, but more importantly, he has shown me how to be weak. I have trusted him with my fears and anxieties and shown him sides of myself that I am not proud of. He has provided me with support through my toughest moments and has never given me any idea that I cannot be whoever I want to be. He is a pillar for which I could not stand.
As an employee, he has shown me how to work with others and continue to advance my career. As a husband, he has taught me how to give and show love in many forms. As a father, he has demonstrated how to support others with a smile.
Thank you, dad, for all that you are.