Happy Birthday, Poppy

My dad turned 97 today.

Most people who learn how old he is can’t believe it. He’s aged well, as they say, and still has a bigger-than-life personality that keeps him engaged in his world. And, let’s face it, he’s as handsome as ever.

I often tell him that he’s longer lasting than the Energizer bunny. I can’t tell you how many times in the last 10 years that my sisters and I thought we’d lost him to one health issue or another as we kept vigil with him in the emergency room. But it was never long before he’d come back around, and we’d breathe a sigh of relief.

Sometimes he wonders aloud why God doesn’t take him to heaven to be with my mom. As much as his lament tugs at my heart, I can imagine what he must feel. It can’t be easy for a man who took such pride in his ability to provide for his family and care for himself to face the loss of mobility and independence he’s suffered over the last few years. He’s had to surrender much of his daily care to us and to hired help.

And yet, he has managed to find within himself the will to make the best of his situation and, in so doing, makes our lives all the better in so many ways.

So, to mark his birthday, I thought I’d share a few things about my dad that makes him so special to me and dozens of others.

He makes us laugh

I could tell you dozens of stories about my dad that would have you cracking up. Like the time he went into the front closet to get his bowling ball and didn’t realize, until his friends pointed it out, that he was carrying the Electrolux vacuum cleaner. Or the times he mistook hairspray or air freshener for an aerosol deodorant. And we all laughed until we cried when he made a card for my mom on their anniversary which said, “Happy University.”

My mom used to call him the absent-minded professor, because he’d forget things. More than once he had the neighbors in stitches when they heard he took the car to work rather than the bus and then left the car downtown and came home on the bus. Or that he’d fallen asleep on the bus and ended up miles past his stop.

More recently, I was on the phone with him when something in our conversation struck him as funny. He started with his “he-he-he” laugh, which keeps building in intensity until it becomes so contagious you are laughing hysterically, slapping-your-knee, but you have no idea why.

He makes everyone feel special

I’ve written before about the impact he’s had on the staff and residents where he lives. He is quick to tell his caregivers how much he appreciates their help or to mention how beautiful they are as he reaches out to hug them. He’s like the mayor of Maple Heights as he moves around the main floor interacting with residents, throwing kisses, shaking hands, flashing his big smile and asking how they are. He leaves few people untouched by his sincerity and social energy.

On holidays, he calls every person on his phone list to offer best wishes for the day and lets them know he is thinking about them.

He makes friends of strangers

No one is a stranger to my dad for long. He initiates conversations in waiting rooms, stores and restaurants, genuinely interested in hearing their stories. And many of them become his life-long friend.

He’s formed relationships with new neighbors, adoring waitresses, the medical assistant at his doctor’s office and friendly store clerks. He continues to connect with a couple guys he met while rehabbing from hospital stays, and two young physical therapists who cared for him there still come to visit him every now and then.

His music inspires us

My dad’s love for music began at an early age. Growing up in the small village of Pacentro in Abruzzo, Italy, he used to sing songs with his sister in their home. And when he sang for others in the town, they told him he had a good voice.

He learned to play the clarinet when he was 12, traveling with the village band to neighboring towns. He put aside his childhood dream of becoming a musician because, “it wasn’t going to feed us,” he says, but his love for entertaining people with music remained strong.

Since then he has sung in operas and choirs, at funerals and weddings, and festivals and nursing homes. For more decades than I can remember, he sang the mass on Sunday mornings at Holy Family Church and directed the choir there as well. Whether a small family gathering or large reception, if there was music and a microphone, you’d find my dad belting out Italian songs to the delight of his audience.

He taught himself to play the mandolin and formed a strolling orchestra with fellow musicians. Up until recently he practiced his music for hours and was ever open to jamming with his friends. My dad and music are inseparable.

He’s a great father

My dad took his role as provider of our family seriously. He worked hard as a tailor for J.L. Hudsons in downtown Detroit for more than 40 years. On a relatively meager income, he made a wonderful life for my mom and we four girls.

He modeled a strong work ethic, doing all the “manly” stuff at home after work and on weekends. He made sure there was food on the table and clothes on our backs, doing tailoring for others at home or taking singing gigs to earn a few extra bucks.

They say the best thing a man can do for his children is to love their mother, and, indeed, he did. They had their share of struggles in their marriage, but he was as devoted to her as a man could be.

In these last 10 years that my mom has been gone, my sisters and I have found our time with him as precious as can be. If we’re not with him, he is calling us to hear how we all are. He is quick to tell us how much he loves us and is ever grateful for our care of him. If he remembers — or one of us reminds him, he calls us on our birthdays to sing to us.

He’ll often call me just to chat and starts with, “How’s my JoAnnie, my baby, today?” or singing, “I love you, a bushel and a peck, a bushel and a peck and a hug around the neck,” and my heart melts from the love I feel through his voice.

Lately at the end of the call, he’ll say, “I love you,” and I’ll say, “I love you, too, Dad,” to which he says, “I love you more,” and then we’re off. Back and forth we go, taking turns like gamblers placing higher and higher stakes on our love for each other until one of us gives up. How could a girl NOT feel special with an interchange like that!

He’s a legend

When I say to people, “Everyone loves my dad,” they say, “Who wouldn’t love your dad? He’s amazing.” And that’s so true. I could go on and on about my dad, but you get the picture. He is a legend in his time and the center of my world. I couldn’t be more blessed to have been born his daughter, nor more pleased to share him with you today.

I love you like crazy, Poppy, and wish you a very happy birthday.