Happy Birthday, Daddy!!!!!

Today is my father's 68th birthday!!! I hope he is enjoying his golf outing with the boys in Myrtle Beach. Hopefully...he will return to the Triangle later in the day, as it is raining here and the mean golf course people would probably try to run him off.

For some odd reason, things to do not come easily to Langmans. I am not sure why. I am not sure if we, as a family, are so complex that we need to intentionally muddy the waters so our conquests are even greater.

My father and I have had a contentious relationship in the past. The fault lies within our mutual stubbornness and unwillingness to bend or compromise. One evening, while I was home for college break (and unusually rebellious, snotty, sulky and teenaged) my father snarled at me about going out with a boy he didn't particularly care for. Being young, stupid and the know-it-all that I was, I was relentless in my pursuit of this chap. My father wrested the keys from my hand and says, "Do not engage me in a match of wills. You will lose every time." I acquiesced, went crying to my room, muttering profanities under my breath. This boy...that I had been so besotted with...ended up in jail for dealing coke. Yet another time in life when Daddy was right and the Little Bear hadn't a clue.

Years later, my dear, old Dad had to bail me out of yet another logjam. He welcomed his 25-year-old daughter into his home to live and put her life back together. Again, my being stubborn, stupid and a bit of a know-it-all, took my father to task every time the opportunity presented itself. My first date with my (future) husband, after living in town for all of three weeks, lasted until 04:00. I was supposed to be home by dinner. And not the next day's dinner. Shortly there after, the roommate wanted ads appeared at my place on the table.

Since then...my father and I have worked to develop one of the most precious relationships in my life. There is no better friend to me than my father. He is not perfect. He is flawed. He is a human being, not super dad. But I do not care.

Looking back on the past, I did not have the most pleasant of childhoods. Daddy and I were separated a lot. There was a lapse in our relationship from the time my parents were divorced and I was sent to live with that dreadful woman and the blue rat until I was 14 years old. I remember Daddy wanting to re-enter my life and thinking, “why?”

My father had an unorthodox business to say the least. He was away from this country more than he was here. While there was something really cool about getting calls from far away, exotic places…I resented him because I was not in the boring town of Obelisk, in the yellow house with the shitty (no pun intended) septic system. I never knew, growing up, what my father did for a living…until one night, when I was a senior in high school and Phoebe told me. Funny how naïve children can be…I just thought we had a lot of money.

My father persisted and I thawed. We started having dinner dates once a week. Just the two of us, perhaps Chinese food. We would talk about all things worldly and I would learn. He would inspire me to watch the news, play an active role in politics and challenge my perceived reality.

Eventually…I spent more time with him and his new lady friend (now his wife) at the house in Obelisk. Our dinners were, in my opinion, elaborate affairs. Seated each night in the dining room, with the appropriate china, we would scarf down marvelous food, drink wine and engage in witty banter. To this day, there is no more perfect way to spend an evening.

My exchange in Sweden came and went (no one seemed to care, except for my father who had to drag me to get my passport and cart me to and from JFK). College came and went. Relations between us ebbed and flowed. Sometimes they were wonderfully loving. Other times…not so much.

My official wake up call to my father’s mortality came when he almost died in a horrific automobile accident. Daddy’s wings were clipped and I almost lost one of the only constants in my life. It was, beyond the shadow of a doubt, the worst thing that I have experienced. I may joke about Daddy’s playing Jeopardy with the morphine pump…but deep, down inside…I was terrified. Simply terrified that this man, my father, was not going to make it through the night.

As we age, we start seeing our parents for who they are as people. Not these giant figures of discipline and security in our lives. I see a man with a lust for life unmatched by any other person I have met. I see a man with a lust for knowledge, unparalleled by any academic. I see a man with more love to offer than Eros himself, but...like everyone else...has no way to express it without feeling entirely vulnerable.

My relationship with my father has evolved and morphed into something so very special, I cannot put it into actual words. I cannot draw it. I couldn’t sky write if I could fly. My father is my best friend, confessor, confidante, inspiration, teacher, hand-holder, champion and supporter.

So Daddy…from the bottom of a Little Bear’s heart…I wish you the happiest birthday of them all. I love you dearly and pray everyday we have more time together. You’re the greatest. Not only in the mind of YP, but mine, as well.