Happy Birthday, Dad… RIP

Today, March 8th, is my dad’s birthday.  In his honor, I would like to share with you a few of my memories of him.

He’s been gone less than a year now, but it feels like so much longer.

My father may not have always been in touch regularly and he was certainly not up for any Father-Of-The-Year Awards.  However, I choose to remember the good things about him since his passing.

My dad, James Durell Dennis, Sr., was a very intelligent, handsome, and witty man born in Atmore, Alabama as the “baby” in a family of 9 children, 6 brothers and 2 sisters.  He and my mother married very young and were a gorgeous couple.  He was a Navy man in the Vietnam War.  He worked for Weyerhaeuser, Schlitz, Stroh’s, and Pabst.  He loved music… mostly the songwriters like Neil Diamond, James Taylor, Bob Seger, and Johnny Rivers.  My dad had a great voice and loved singing and writing songs and poems.

I remember my dad singing “Listen, Do You Want To Know A Secret” by the Beatles to me.  (Probably the only Beatles song I even like to this day.)

I remember when we were living in the Navy apartments in Long Beach, California, I was only about 3 years old.  There was an older boy of about 7 years old that would always bully me.  My dad came home one evening and found me crying because the boy had hit me.  He promptly took me to the little boy’s door and told his mother to have him come out so that I could hit him back.  The mother, of course, refused… until he explained to her that if she didn’t allow me to retaliate against her son, he would personally take it out on her husband.  He explained that I’d better hit the boy hard enough that he’d never want to hit me again.  Apparently, I did because I never had any trouble with him again.  He said that from then on if anyone ever hit me, I’d better fight back as hard as I could because if I didn’t beat their ass, he’d beat mine.  He told me to not ever be the one to throw the first punch, but I’d better always throw the last to defend myself.  (I sure wish I’d held to that during my first marriage.)

I remember as a small girl having a piece of soap shaped as a flower and wanting to show him.  I woke him from his nap on the couch, and since I was always sharing candy and food with him, in his sleepiness he thought the soap was a piece of candy.  Biting into it woke him up in a hurry.

I remember him teaching me how to swim and dive.  He, my baby brother, and I loved the water.

I remember him teaching me how to play sports.  He’d throw a football with me for hours on end until I could throw a pass perfectly “hitting the numbers” from the other end of the courtyard at his apartment complex.  He had me doing a perfect hook shot even though I hated basketball.  His favorite was golf and he’d take my brother and I to play Putt Putt often.  There were times he’d call me to tell me about his golf game… each stroke of every hole of the game.  Bored, I only half listened, but I guess I should have been happy that he wanted to share it with me.

I remember him being a big beer drinker… but, don’t ever remember seeing him “drunk”.

I remember that in one apartment he lived, he had me draw on the walls of the living room.  My brother loved Sesame Street at the time so our dad had me trace pictures of Big Bird, Elmo, Bert and Ernie, and Snuffleupagus on the wall and color them in so that he’d have his very own pictures of them to see whenever we were there.  (Wonder what the next tenants thought.)

I remember my dad telling jokes incessantly that were so bad you had to laugh anyway.

He would say things like “For shits and giggles”, “Squeeze me” (instead of “excuse me”), “Kiss my go to hell”… and, countless other nonsense sayings that you came to expect only from him.

He taught me that every action has a consequence and that BEFORE you act, you should figure out what the consequence will be.  If you’re willing to face the consequences, then by all means, take the action.  He would tell me that I could do ANYTHING I wanted to do… as long as I was willing to pay whatever price came with it.

Even though my brother and I didn’t talk to him often, he always made sure that we knew he loved us and was proud of us.  And, I believe that he did and was.  I just wish he’d been around more.  I wish my brother had been able to spend more time with him.  I don’t think my brother ever knew how much our dad adored him.  And, I always felt bad about that.  My brother does things and says things so very much like our dad and I’m sure he doesn’t even realize it.  But, I do. So, I guess our father will continue to live on in him.

Yes, there are memories that are not so fond… but, I choose to let those go.  I choose to forgive those… for me.

So, Dad… if you’re seeing this… I love you.  I miss your voice… your laugh… your wisdom… and, even your dumb-ass jokes.  😀