Remembering Popsicle

Yesterday was the 15th anniversary of my dad's death. I had big plans to get up early this morning and go to church -- the church where mom and dad were married -- but I didn't. I don't go normally. And Dad wasn't even Catholic, so what would I be going for, except to assuage the Catholic brand of guilt that creeps into my head? It'd be more appropriate to go play a round of golf, I guess, but I don't play. Or make a picture of whiskey sours -- but that was more my mom's favorite drink that my dad would make for her, not his.

Dad liked a cold, tall glass of beer -- Schaeffer beer -- in a pilsner, strawberry shortcake, reading the Sharpe novels of Bernard Cornwall, and wearing brown with blue. He took me for my learner's permit on the day I turned 16, but after one driving lesson where I veered a little too close to the edge of the road, didn't take me again. I called him Popsicle, and was daddy's little girl -- his youngest daughter. I wanted him to grow back his moustache, and pick me up in his arms again. I want him now -- to walk me down the aisle someday, to hug, to just tell him about my day, to talk about the neighborhood I live in, where he grew up. To show me the nooks and crannies of the streets around here -- his favorite bars, his hangouts. Did he eat at the Heidelberg, the German restaurant around the corner? Did he ever come to Brandy's right downstairs, to listen to music? He used to let me stand on his feet and dance around our dining room table. He taught me to waltz. He would have loved the swing music I listen to today -- we could have compared favorite songs. Pennsylvania 6-5000 and Minnie the Moocher, Glen Miller vs. Big Bad Voodoo Daddy.

I'm not a cemetary-going person. He's not there, and I didn't go there to remember him. He's here -- in my heart, in my memory, in the pictures of our family that I love and surround myself with. He's in my brother, when I see him with his little girl.

And now he's on the world wide web. I miss you, Daddy. I miss you, and I love you.

Love your little girl,
Katie