Happy Birthday, Dad!  

Milestones, markers of moments far too quickly passed, physical elements that try to capture the ethereal, then time slips through memories of our mind.  These are the fragments of the past.  Pieces, which strung together, propel us into our future.  Today is one of them.  It was the day my Dad took his first breath 93 years ago.  Happy birthday, Dad.  

I remember my Grandmother exclaiming, “Oh Arnie!” When he teased her, and oh, he loved to tease!  He took great joy in making people laugh, and getting ‘a reaction’ from them.  Reading a child’s story book was never as much fun as when my Dad would read it out loud with great theatrical emphasis, and changes to the words, which caused us endless disputes and giggles.  His hands would hold the book and turn the pages at his whim all the while wrapping his arms around us.  He carried that method of angst with his grandchildren too, and the reactions were all the same, “that’s not what it says!” With more laughter from four or more little ones perched on the safety of his knees, and his hands holding them tight.  

Do you remember one of the first times your Dad prayed with you?  That intimate, vulnerable, loving moment when he cradles your whole head in his large hand for bedtime prayers?  The hands were not pudgy or fat, but just long fingers, wide palms, warm, strong and soft all at the same time.  His voice was deep and sonorous as the reverend words of care were carried from his heart to God, and letting our ears be in the middle.  Then he would tuck those blankets in so tight around you that you couldn’t move.  Somehow, it was the most comforting and safest place in the world.  With the final stroke to your hair with his hand, he was gone.

Under ducks at that park swing which made you think you would go completely in a circle around that horizontal pole above, were not often enough.  We screamed, “more!”   The feeling of soaring, with a blast of air in your hair whipping it to and fro with each pendulum swing - in his hands, out of his hands, in his hands, out of his hands; freedom and security all at the same time.  He built a swing in our back yard, over a drop off, to give us that sensation whenever we wanted.  He knew we’d love it.  

Those are the memories that hold tight to the heart, and cause the wind vein of life to blow in a certain direction.  

Of course by 18, with absolute certainty, my Dad was the worst Father in the world.  He had no respect for my feelings, compassion for my struggles, or understanding of how things were done ‘these days’.  Yet, at 20, he drove 6 hours to check to see if I was okay after I totalled the car he lent me for university.  Once the paper work was completed, and it was obvious I was going to be fine, with a big hug and a kiss, he was gone.  That was my Dad.  

The older I get, the better view I have of him.  The collection of my own life’s milestones correct my vision, give me a greater perspective of the struggles he went through, and a deeper understanding of who he was.  The bittersweet part of life is that I cannot share these insights with him, to let him know I know.  I get it.   So, on this wonderful day, October 9, 2026, I wish my Dad a thank-you birthday.   Because of who he was, the faith in Christ he shared, and the life he lived right till the end here on Earth, I will be able to be hugged again by him.  Then, I’ll be able to thank him with all clarity, and deep affection, for being the wonderful person he was.  I’m so glad our lives do not end at our deaths.  He is not gone; he is waiting for me.