Another Year Older

It's true, I don't do this for everyone's birthday (on purpose actually, as I deliberately don't set my own bar too high), but I couldn't resist celebrating a big, big birthday this week. As of Wednesday, my larger than life Dad is 75. And instead of bringing in his birthday at home with a ski day at Snowbasin and a fancy meal fixed by my mother, he is almost exactly halfway around the world surrounded by vanilla beans, mangos, and geckos he occasionally vacuums up. For him, I am going to share three memories.

Memory une. When my Dad had back problems years ago, he would walk up and down our street because it made him feel better to be in motion (imagine that). I still remember the way his loose Chaco sandals sounded as they scuffed on the pavement. I don't remember any particular conversations, only his invitations that I walk with him anytime I was home.

Memory deux. My Dad still sports a Velcro headband with a Hawaiian print when he works in the yard. And the widest, old school brown belt you'll ever see. He mows the lawn like someone is holding a fire torch to his heels. And he used to throw his awful socks in my face when he was done.

Memory trois. I remember my Dad coming to check me out of school early when I was in high school. He was wearing a checkered, light pink dress shirt with a beautiful tie and slacks. Even at 16 years old, I knew that he was sharp dresser. And I felt proud.

Here's to another 25 years of that great headband, Padre.