Today is my father’s birthday, and if I told you how old he’d be if he were alive, you’d be pretty sure he couldn’t have a 35-year-old daughter.
In this photo, he’s playing a harmonica. I remember the day well, because my sister and her then-husband Roger were visiting. Roger could really play the harmonica, and he had several, so at one time or another, all of us picked up one of them and had a go at playing. Until my father did this, I’d had no idea he knew how. His skill wasn’t in Roger’s league, but he still could play, and I remember being delighted that you can know a person all your life and still learn new things about him. This is something I still enjoy about the people I know and love–as long as the things I learn are good ones!
My Runway Monday fashion–to be posted later–is meant to be a nod to the creative talents of my forebears, including my father. For now, I’m going out into the world with my camera to celebrate his birthday. I know I was very fortunate to know him not only as a father, but as a multifaceted man with the eye and soul of an artist.
ETA: Those are stickers on the refrigerator, and by looking at the photo HUGE, I can see that they’re Snoopy stickers. The only ones I recognize are the Red Baron and Snoopy skateboarding, and I dedicate that last one to my father’s first grandson. =)
fyi I vogue in the shower.
Because anyone can vogue in clubs or on sidewalks or in videos, but you take it to an entirely new level.
I may have told you this already. Attribute my communicative redundancy to self- assassinated brain cells if, indeed, I have. Your father and my daughter share the same birthday. Even though our daughter, Jenni, was not with us in church this morning (she and her family normally are), I had a very special serendipitous moment of grace.
Jenni was born on Friday, September 16, 1983 at 10:23 a.m. at St. Vincent’s Hospital in Birmingham. This very morning leading worship at my church, as I began the baptism ritual for the infant daughter of my music staff, I glanced at my watch. It was 10:23 a.m. Not a headline-making moment; still, I teared a bit – a small, but precious moment, a gift, I think just for me from the One in whom I live and move and have my being.
Even if you repeat yourself, it’s okay. I’ve probably forgotten or just relish hearing your stories again.
“Serendipity” is one of my favorite words and things. For that matter, so is “grace.” Lovely moment; thanks for sharing it.
Fathers are such wonderful beings. My dad had absolutely no musical talent, but that didn’t stop him from playing the dur-dur which is the toilet paper roll equivalent of a kazoo.
Men who don’t understand or value their importance to their children not only cheat their kids, but deny themselves joy and unconditional love. I’m glad you had a good one–together, ours could have put on quite the concert! (Could your father also play a comb with a Kleenex, because I have a vague memory of this, too.)