Birthdays With Dad

How weird to not hear Dad call me and sing, "Happy Birthday Dear Gumbo..." or the all important second verse, "May you live a hundred years, may you drink a million beers, get plastered you baaaaaaad (holding the aaa extra long to make you wonder if he was going to say bastard or not) girl, happy birthday to you". For 34 years I have either been with Dad or talked to Dad on my birthday. I still cannot believe I will never hear his voice again. He and Mom always made birthdays special. My birthday is on Veterans Day and Dad used to take me to the parade in downtown Pittsburgh. Of course he didn't call it a Veteran's Day parade. It was my birthday parade!! Somewhwre along the way, I realized that the parade wasn't actually for me. For birthdays, we always have big family get togethers - the more the merrier. Mom always cooks a big meal and a cake and we all joke around and have a good time. Dad loved to hear the funny cards and always encouraged the guest of honor to read their cards aloud. Dana used to go to stores and read cards, find her favorite, commit it to memory and then run home to recreate it with construction paper, Crayola markers and glitter glue. Dad got such a huge kick out of it and has always reminded her and anyone else who would listen about it. Ever since we were kids, birthdays were a big deal in our home. We always had fun parties and got special gifts. I recently saw a picture of Dad at my 3rd grade slumber party surrounded by about eight girls. He was holding something small in his hands and everyone looked like they were dying to see what it was. I barely remember the party but I imagine he had them all convinced that it was a magical rock or something. He always was the life of the party - whether the guests were eight or 88. I'm pretty sure he threw one heck of a party up in Heaven tonight.