My dad

Where to start? Well probably at my excitement when he came back from his cross country trip which took him to Texas, Mississippi, up to Ohio, through Wisconsin and the fact that this was all done in order to fix some houses. And that face that he will probably end up repeating it again sometime next spring.  Or how grateful I was when someone rung our doorbell (a rarity) and voila it be the one and only Captain Willy back from his voyage! How at times when our family struggled without him and my worries turned to my mom who was all alone I felt a real yearning for the steady presence he brings into our lives. The discussions that have occurred and my big head has gotten filled with opinions about what will be the next big thing in technology and going back and forth on it (Dad, i'm still a wannabe Apple man).  How I hated working for him outside when it was wet, when it was warm, when it was breezy, when it cold, on the roof, in the living room, somewhere in the country, at my grandma's house and how I wish everyday I had paid attention to all that was being taught about being your own handyman. The smell of wood and it was being chewed up by his table saw and the dust that reeked of dead trees. Knowing that Michael is the hands of the best Grandfather in the world. That I could every night walk up to the plate and know that my dad would be cheering me on and that after the game he never would berate me but hug me and take me out to eat a victory meal, win or lose. I remember the strict discipline that dad wasn't the one you messed with, early on he would beat your butt and later he would ground you from the North v. South basketball game that you had to listen to on the radio while I finished the dishes and I will never forget that one night how late we stayed up that one night while I wrote lines and until he was satisfied that I had learned my lesson. Newspapers had to be delivered in any condition but I was never left alone to gaze at the Big Dipper as the sun stole away it's shine. Never the one to forget fun my dad could always be counted on to pick up the controller to play a little NBA Jam before school and try to beat me at Risk after (sorry dad we cheated you that one game, we can have the rematch anytime you want). My pride at our father-son Vatican poker game as my dad cleaned out the competition and funded yet another pizza run with the winnings, my memories of the many late nights came flooding back of him cleaning out or meager pile of toothpicks as we sat around and were schooled by a master. The many preparations it took to finally move our big blue moving truck out of the state of New York and the nights we spent at Pizza Hut playing Tecmo Bowl while we got ready. How I have often wondered at the feelings one has being deaf. Times where I stood behind him talking a lot of nonsense and enjoying the benfits of playing my music as loud as I wanted. The gifts that he gave me of keen and inquisitve intellect. The blessing that it is to know how to sign. The words that never came out of his mouth, "you can't do it" and the words that I want him to know but will never reach his ears, "I love you".