Friday, August 11, 2006


My father was born the third of four adorable sons. His family moved all over the country throughout his childhood, causing him to go to a number of schools in the double digits before high school graduation. He joined the Marines, bench pressed crazy weight, married my mama, and was kind enough to participate in my creation.

As a child, I was Daddy's girl. He taught me how to balance a checkbook, appreciate opera, laugh til I cry, pick a crab crazy fast, and ride a bicycle. I've found these to be useful life lessons and I appreciate them all, as well as the one who taught them. He also loved the Kingston Trio. Well, we all have our flaws.

As an adult, Daddy (also known as Dingwa - a name I coined for him at age 8) and I have shared some passions that others don't. If I want to talk about church dynamics, theology, biblical history, or string theory - I seek out Dingwa. If the dog or the baby has done something really disgusting and I want someone to laugh it off with, I call Dingwa. When the NY Deli closed and it was time to have my last sailor sandwich there, Dingwa had one too.

I'm lucky to have him. He's given me a health scare or two over the years which has helped me to appreciate him in the moment. He's a kind, smart, sweet and funny man, and I'm glad my children can know him, too.

Happy Birthday, Dingwa. You are so loved.

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