heart belongs to Daddy

WHO sent me a card for Valentine's Day?

My Dad, of course.

Naturally, he signed it from mother AND dad, but I know that handwriting. My Dad. My ever-loving Dad.

I have been receiving so much love, and caring, and appreciation these days. My brother, who in his funny, biting, punning, teasing, big-brotherly way reminds me that I am not blogging enough and not resting enough. My CPA brother-in-law, overworked during tax season (i.e. RIGHT NOW), but always able to laugh (or at least smile) with me on the phone. My students, helping me schlep stuff when my arm is about to give out, and working like the heroes they are at making the best art they can make. My friends, filling my email box with e-cards, reminders, invitations, jokes, information, evidence of life lived.

But my consistent, generous, loving Dad will ALWAYS come through with hard copy. None of this electronic stuff. A piece of printed matter. A stamp. A signature.

When I went away to college, my Dad cut out the Doonesbury comic strips EVERY SINGLE DAY. Once a week Dad would send me the stack, along with a newsy letter. My girlfriends would gather around a breakfast table on Tuesday morning and we'd pass around my Dad's Doonesburys. My ever-loving Dad.

Mom rarely wrote. She picked up the phone.
Dad's little ritual taught me more about love than nearly anything else.

I guess I am more like my Mom. I pick up the phone, too. But I really appreciate, more and more, the person that my Dad is. So my heart REALLY belongs to Daddy.