Other Voices: Father's Day gets tough when they're no longer here

My father was born in 1914 and grew up on a farm in South Dakota. They had no indoor plumbing or electric lights. The old jokes about walking through the snow to school-he really did that.

Yet he never begrudged us the life we were born into. He was happy for all the 'luxuries' we took for granted.

My dad died in 1991. He was 77.

To this day, I can get choked up when I see a daughter having lunch with her elderly dad. I still miss him, especially on Father's Day.

If I could have a chance to talk to him one more time, there are some things I'd like to thank him for.

Thank you dad, for driving 30 miles to work everyday so that we could grow up on three acres in a small town.

Thank you for all the times that you comforted me at night when I was scared. You never said-'be quiet' or were grumpy that I woke you up.

For how you'd run up front and take pictures at my recitals and graduations. The old flash bulbs would go 'pop' and make me see red for a few seconds. But I have so many photos of my childhood, thanks to you.

Thank you for all the hours we spent together at the yellow Formica kitchen table. You would explain my math homework to me, over and over, and not lose your patience.

Thank you dad, for the time that you sat up all night when I was sick in the hospital. When I woke up, you were there, and I was better.

For how when you'd read my report card, you would look at each grade and say how well I was doing. I would feel so proud.

I remember the fried spam on toast sandwiches that you'd make on Saturdays. I thought they were so delicious. And how we'd sit around the table together as we ate them, and you'd tell us stories and make us laugh.

For always showing up for my band concerts, especially in junior high. No one practiced and even we knew we were bad. But you'd sit in the half-empty auditorium and clap loudly.

Thank you for driving me and all my giggly friends to Girl Scout camp and just being there, strong and invisible, getting us there and back safely.

Thank you for not taking it personally when I'd ask you to drop me off a block away from events. I could pretend I'd just materialized out of thin air rather than having a parent drive me.

For teaching me how to drive a stick shift car and how to parallel park. I think of you each time I back my car into a tight spot with ease.

Thank you for when I was seventeen and came home from college for the first time and my high-school boyfriend was meeting me at the train. But when I stepped off, I could see you down the tracks, standing in the shadows, just making sure that I wasn't left alone in the night.

So most of all, dad, thank you for modeling how to love.

Happy Father's Day.

You are so missed.

And so loved.

ooo

Diane Covington lives in Nevada City.