Brookali Broccali or Brooklet Monster. You'd call me either, or. I remember once I had some friends over and you called me one of the latter names and I was horrified. So embarrassed. A friend asked, "Wait, what did he call you?" I mumbled I didn't know and proceeded to quickly ask which My Little Pony she wanted to play with.
In Miss Roach's fifth grade p.m. class one day, I overheard one of my classmates telling his friend about how his Dad was "the biggest jerk in the world." He then went on to describe how his Dad was a "meanie" and always yelled, threw things, and made his mom cry. My clueless, freckled 10-year-old self struggled to grasp such a concept. My eyes widened down at my blank notebook paper that was supposed to be filled with sentences summarizing my summer as I instead eavesdropped. Up until then I had paid little attention to the fathers around me besides my own. I guess I thought fathers were universal. I thought they all had handstand contests with their daughters even if it made their back hurt and meant they'd have a headache for the rest of the day. I thought they all came to cheer at track meets and soccer games even if it was hailing. I always had a handmade home lunch every day by you along with personal drawings and messages carved into my bananas.
I watched you kiss mom's neck while you made dinner together. I watched you dance with her in the kitchen to Marvin Gaye while I sat at the table eating cheerios. Once I had a bad dream and wandered into your room to be consoled. I walked in and you and mom were kneeling next to each other by your bed, praying together. Whenever mom was down in her art studio painting, you always made sure none of us kids bothered her. No matter the nagging issue — whether it be asking her to french braid my hair or Derek needing her password on the computer to play starcraft — you never allowed us to bother her until she was done. I remember being annoyed whenever I asked you what I thought was a simple question and you'd always converse with mom before giving me an answer. Every decision was made together, even if it was only an issue of whether or not I had a sleepover at my friends house.
Without really realizing it, you have been preparing me all along to be a wife and someday a mother. I've learned through your example how I should be loved, and how I deserve to be loved. I will be married to someone in a month who reminds me over and over again of you. The cheesiness of the saying that says "you marry someone just like your father" could not be more applicable. It's the qualities in you that I saw in Chase that initially drew me to him. I have now found someone I know will ALWAYS love me — and keep me laughing the entire time — and I could not be more grateful to you for that, Daddy.
Until that pivotal moment at Brookside Elementary, I assumed all Dads did everything you did. What a crazy assumption, you do so much more.
Now, if I had it my way, you'd always call me Brookali Broccali. Nothing else.
I love you. Happy Fathers day.
