May 4th-I Love You, Dad

Dad would have been 78 this year. It is hard to see his birthday come and go without being able to see him, help him celebrate, and buy him a gift. I used to buy him daisies every year for his garden, or tomatoes, or give him lotto tickets in hopes that he would win it big. God, how I miss him.

I miss his voice when he sang, a beautiful rich tenor or when he recited story poems to me as a child: Casey at the Bat, The Raven, The Cremation of Sam McGee-all favorites still.

I miss the way he held his grandchildren, the way he played with them and tried to teach them the skills he knew in art, woodworking, and gardening. He exuded love for them every minute he was near them.

I miss his gentleness. I miss his talent. I miss his hands-hands that created art in many forms-watercolors, oils, photographs,woodworking, furniture refinishing and furniture making, gorgeous leather tooling and leather work. He was a perfectionist. Whatever he did, he did well.

One of my nicest memories was when he taught me to knit when I was 8. I bought a book and a pair of plastic needles and some white Red Heart yarn at Woolworths. I tried to teach myself garter stitch, but all I got was a tangle of knots. He took the book, the needles, and the Red Heart and taught himself garter stitch in an afternoon. Then, he taught me, and in a matter of days, I had a somewhat crooked but very recognizable headband. I wore it to school. He promptly forgot how to knit, but was the best ball winder anyone could ever ask for! He was ever patient and didn't mind winding for hours until my yarns were ready for my next project.

Lung cancer took Dad on September 5, 1995, way too early. It was good to see his pain and suffering end, but he was taken from me way too soon. John remembers his essence. Dan doesn't remember at all. I'll remember forever. Love you, Dad.

I wish I had...

Making my first pair of socks has really made me think back onto my grandmothers and their knitting. Mother's mother was from Bavaria, and came to this country with a third grade education and a child in tow. She was widowed at a young age, raised 4 kids alone during the depression, and taught herself English by reading the newspaper. I have been told that she was an amazing sock knitter. I only got to see her twice a year for a day or two, and she spoke mostly German. I wish I had asked her to show me how she did her socks. I would have loved to have watched her make something. Our visits were so few and far between that there was never any evidence of her knitting. I should have asked.

My father's mother knitted and crocheted too. She made me things all the time, and even though I never saw her much either, she sent me handmade gifts in the mail often. She'd make me purses, and the nicest knitted slippers! As soon as I'd wear out a pair, she'd send another. I knew she loved me, and that in itself was the best gift!

I've been thinking of both of them while learning socks. I wish I had connected more with them back then. It is way too late now, except for in my heart and through my hands. I miss them both.