I hate to disappoint you, but my dad was the best dad ever. There are many people with mugs proclaiming that they are, in fact, the best dad, but those mugs are little liars and I think the people sipping from them know that. Because, my dad was the best (and he didn’t have one of those mugs because being a great dad is like being a lady… you don’t have to tell anyone you are one).
It’s been 2 months since he died.
2 months since the worst day of my entire life.
It’s been 2 months of near constant chest tightening, tears, brain fog, and just… pain.
2 months of asking my toddler to blow kisses to grandpa in heaven because if she ever forgets him, I will know that I am a complete failure as a mother because that man was more obsessed with her than anything else in this entire world. And nothing hurts more than knowing that she’ll never really know him, she’ll only know what I tell her.
But I’m not here to make you cry (just make myself cry, apparently).
I’m here because people, who never had the honor of meeting my dad, have recently asked me what made my dad the best dad ever. Because people who did get the honor of meeting my dad knew what made him the best dad.
The answer, I’m sure, is much more complicated than I’m about to put it, but it’s what came to mind.
I love video games. I’ve almost always been into video games because my dad is into video games (you could probably assume that everything I’m into is because of my dad). When I was really little, we had a Nintendo that someone gave us and when that broke down, my mom refused to have a video game system in the house because “girls don’t play video games” (she’s changed her stance since then). However, soon after that statement, my cousin (who is my age) was diagnosed with leukemia. My mom wanted him to have something to do while getting his treatments so she bought us both a GameBoy. I only got to play it while I was with him so that we could keep our spirits up (he is healthy and happy today). Sometime in middle school, we got a Sega (that my dad stole from a murderer… that’s a different story) with the weirdest games but that soon broke down (probably karma). As soon as the PS2 came out, I talked my dad into splitting it with me with the Christmas money from my grandma. When I say that I “talked him into it”… I basically suggested it and it happened. My mom was won over by the fact that it could also play DVDs.
My favorite daddy/daughter dates were when my dad would take me out to the local mall. We’d go to the food court then the arcade. We’d play all the games, especially air hockey. On our way out, we’d stop by the bookstore. It was always a perfect day. I still remember when I turned 21 and I took him to a Dave & Busters for the first time and we were both like kids in a candy shop. Or… I guess like adults who figured out they could drink beer and play arcade video games at the same time.
I remember that at some point, when I was still very little, I cried to my dad about having to always play “boy games”. All of the games I played forced you to play as a boy and as a very girly little girl, I was pissed. Why can’t I play as a girl? SURE, you could play Ms. Pacman but she only had a game because she was Pacman’s wife, not her own person. Don’t even get me started on Street Fighter.
So what did my dad do? This was back before the internet was really a thing and he didn’t have a lot of friends so who was he going to ask? He went down to the video game store and told them his problem. He had a daughter who loved playing video games but was sick of playing as a boy.
That day, my dad came home with Tomb Raider and an obsession began.
That’s it.
That was my dad.
His daughter was upset and he fixed it. That’s what made him the best dad ever. I’m almost 40 years old and he was still actively doing everything he could to make sure that I was happy.
It’s been a really hard 2 months. I want to talk about him while also never talking about him again. I want to share everything here with perfect strangers so that they know that they have someone to talk to when their parents die (this has been the only reason I’ve been “okay” and the shittiest club to be a part of). Somedays, I don’t know how I can possibly move forward. And I’m learning to feel okay with that. Because I know that I will move forward and I know that sharing my stories, especially the really funny ones, will make things slightly better. Maybe. I guess we’ll see.
