My Daddy

Here I am with my Daddy in the summer of 1994 at Walt Disney World's MGM Studios theme park. Strangely enough, this is the only photo I have of my dad here with me in Saudi Arabia. It sits on a table in Zeina's room. In the picture, I am 21 years old, so that makes him 47. When this picture was taken, I could never imagine that my father would die less than three years later. And, since I've mentioned numbers, this is my 12th Father's Day without him. And, while we are at it, 12 was his baseball number.

I'm missing him right now, so I thought I'd share a few memories:

My daddy was an easy man to love. He had a big smile and twinkly blue eyes. He never hesitated to tell someone that he loved them.

He liked to laugh and drink beer.

He liked to play shuffle board, horseshoes and pin ball.

He could make you feel like a million bucks. Seriously. He had the ability to make you feel really special.

He was a good cook.

When I was 16, he tried to ride in the car with me when I took my driver's test to get my license. The police officer had to ask him to get out of the back seat.

From the time I entered kindergarten until I graduated from high school: he woke me in the morning, made my bed, prepared my breakfast and fixed my lunch (which always included a special hand-written note on the napkin).

He told me I could do and be anything I wanted. I believed him.

He liked to eat pizza. A lot.

My dad wore a sweatshirt at Christmas that said, "Ho, Ho, Ho! The fat man is coming."

He believed in God and sang loudly in church on Christmas Eve.

Daddy liked liver and onions.

He never turned me down when I wanted to play tennis.

When I was 10, I asked him to show me how to mow the lawn. He told me to go back inside the house. He said mowing the lawn was one of those things I never needed to learn. He told me that if I knew how to mow, someone may expect me to do it someday. I listened to him. By the way, I've never mowed a lawn. (There were many other life lessons like this one.)

He was a native Houstonian. He loved Houston. And Galveston.

He called my mother and me "his girls". George sometimes refers to Little Z and myself the same way and it makes me smile.

Nicknames: Mo, Mole, Neon Leon.

He wore neon bathing suits and sunglasses in the 80s.

He had a "baseball body".

He liked the Beach Boys and old country western music.

He was comfortable in his own skin. He knew who he was, and what he was about. And, he didn't pretend to be anything other than himself.

He unconditionally loved my mother and me. Love. That's all a family really needs. We were happy. Rich with love.