Monday, April 28, 2014


There's nothing like having a dad that will play with you.  No doubt many of us can recall fleeting memories of our dad's swinging them on their shoulders; playing catch; or racing them down the street.  While its the same for myself I also don't have one particular memory of my dad playing with me that stands out.  All the same here are a few...

I can remember being no older than five, coming home from ballet practice and running to a swing - that my dad constructed himself with a piece of think wood and two strong lines of rope - and having him push me in my tutu as I'd scream with delight, "HIGHER!"

I can remember - vaguely - being a toddler and one of my favorite things to do with my dad was having him do, "one, two, threeeeeee."  More explanation I know.  Whenever I felt a little roughly and playful, and we were in the living room, my dad might indulge me by laying on his back; legs bent and slightly elevated; I'd proceed to use his feet as a toddler roller-coaster chair, and his hands as my handle bars.  He's say "one," swing me up slightly; "two," swing me up slightly again; "THREEEEEEE," and swing me up, over his body, and I'd do a full flip and land on my feet; before saying: "AGAIN!"

I can remember when our family would be out on a family day trip (be it Disneyland, the park, or a family shing dig), and my young fussy self would get tired; he'd hoist me up on his shoulders.  All of a sudden my feet didn't hurt anymore and I had a 6"2' birds eye view of the world.  BLISS!

I can remember other times, my play time with my dad, would be as simple as being in the front or back yard and taking my dad's hands as he's swing me round and round, as he turned round and round.  Dizzy and grassy, I'd still insist in a fumbled saunter: "AGAIN!"

I can remember when he and I were more or less feeling silly, I'd sit on his lap as he'd use his hand as a mock "spider." We both referred to it as the "tickle monster," and the tickle monster would - as you'd expect - tickle me as I'd squeal and squirm, laugh and giggle in his lap and in his arms.

Sometimes it really is the simple things.  


  1. Beautiful, precious memories Barbara, thanks for sharing =]

  2. Of course! Thanks for sharing in the reminiscing, and journeying with me as I grieve and remember the man my father was.