Dear Dad, The trophy is still yours.

Tonight I had one of those life moments—where all of a sudden you hear you parents words come out of your mouth! Oddly enough—it was my father tonight. The night of laughter all started with a simple daily female venting. A dear friend of mine was discussing work issues from that day, and just like the best of all females, quite emotionally. I quietly sat there and listened to her talk…half way through I stopped her and asked her what the actual PROBLEM was and then eerily calm and rationally reminded her you can not solve a problem with emotion, just logic. This-of course- stunned the female filled room.

This spawned a discussion where I very proudly told stories to dear friends about the best man I have ever known- my father. My dad, you see, has this unbelievable way of remaining emotionally free from all situations. Whether this was a learned trait from having two very estrogen ridden daughters, or a natural gift he honed himself; I gained a very funny new insight and respect for my dad tonight. Kind of one of those “ah ha” moments followed by a dose of a shit eating “I get it now” grin!

Growing up I had an unnerving fear of my father...not out of worry about being hurt, let down or yelled at but he had this way of never losing. Not losing his temper, his tone, or the battle. By the time it got to him, I had lost—but only after brutal honest truth, delivered in a manner even a criminal couldn’t dispute. He truly missed a calling in mediation.

In keeping with my dads love of golf I have decide that his way of dealing with his girls is likely his way of playing the sport. I will never forget-nor can I wait to implement “the love of the game”. As I get older I start to see how I always lost, and he always won. He would sit in the over sized chair in our family room, gleaning at me with a poker face I swear would make ESPN proud. He would set the remote control down on the arm of the chair, sort of like trying to pick the best driver out of the bag. The TV, by the way, only turned to mute, just to be able to follow the show during what I have come to now call the “tee-up.” Once I spilled everything; tears, emotion, the story, his” tee-up”; he never skipped a beat. With me it was mostly the same driver—a look on his face which I always blindly read as understanding, however, far from the reality. It was always a face of pure bewilderment. He would calming approach the ball (me) and hit it so hard with a straight and direct dose of reality, it was bound to be a hole in one every time. Tiger couldn’t even compete with him on this course. I loathed his “golfing” ability. Somehow, I always left feeling like I was his handicap.


I couldn’t stop laughing tonight. All these years I never understood him. Thought he never understood me. Little did I know, he understood me quite well, and was dealing with me the best way possible, emotion free. I guess it will take me years, even possibly a life time, to learn how to be so calm when the person you’re trying to help you have so much emotion for.

Tonight trying to be more like my Dad is my willing accomplice.