My Dad is 80!

Today is my Dad’s LXXX ‘th (80) birthday party!  (Dad’s Birthday is Halloween, and he’s always joked that he is the family ghost.)  No, my Dad is not so old that he still counts with Roman Numerals; it’s more that I love Roman Numerals, and my Dad is the one that taught them to me.  Nothing beats the pure geometry and rules applied to this skill set that a true analytic, or others like me, could not enjoy.  Come on, what’s not to love about 138 being written as CXXXVIII?  And for help in falling asleep, just learn the basics of counting to 150.  You’ll never count sheep again!  Just don’t stumble on XLIV (44).

My Dad is an avid fisherman.  Avid in that he fishes once a year, but makes it worth the wait for the whole year, and he goes to Canada to fish for a week, angling for Pike, Muskies, and Walleye.  A few years ago he was awarded the prestigious “Master Angler” certification, landing a 40” beast, this on top of the earlier 38” feast from earlier in the day.

Most of my sporting skills were definitely inherited from my Dad.  Most notably: bowling, (though I have yet to bowl a 300 like he has), baseball (he taught me the pickoff move as a pitcher, which netted two successful attempts the first game I pitched with it as a young boy), softball (he taught me to always swing for the fences, which I still do), basketball (his 3 pointer distance was his best shot, and is mine too, though when he played, it was still called a long 2 point shot), poker (just give him your money up front, and don’t waste a night of aggravation), and ping pong (he taught me the reverse spinner and the looped slam).  On a side note, my girls are already mad at me for using those ping pong moves on them, even though they were rusty from 35 years of non-usage, the muscle memory reflexes came back quite quickly when serving it up against them last week after our recent ping pong purchase. 

I'm no competition for Dad on the water though, as I never did take a love to fishing, and when I did, I was much too impatient.  I am a true hunt/conquer type A kind of guy, and fishing seems perfect for the more plodding, and laid back type B kind of guys.  Not that there is anything wrong with that (one of my favorite episodes of Seinfeld); I just can’t get into it.

My Dad was adopted out of a Catholic orphanage as a young baby to the Fournier family of Bartlesville.  His Dad ran the Fournier Brothers tire store near downtown, but his Dad died when my Dad was only 12, so I never got to know him.  But, my Dad’s Mom was the original “old” Grandma, back when Grandma’s weren’t Grandma’s until they were at least 60+.  Strange now that that age doesn’t seem old at all. 

She loved us with all her heart, and I have nothing but incredible memories of my times with Grandma, and her sister Meda.  I could (and might) blog many chapters of my life and times with Meda, as she was my favorite Aunt, and made my life special in more ways than I can count.  What a blessing it was for my Dad to have been adopted into that family, as it was the basis for the heritage that I have today. 

My Dad worked for Phillips 66 his entire career.  I can’t imagine that.  Things like that just don’t happen in today’s world, and probably haven’t for the last 20+ years, but somehow my Dad was able to pull it off; amazing. 

Dad has been married to Mom for 56 years.  Yes, you read that right.  56 years . . . and counting!  I do hope and pray that they both live long enough to make it to at least 75 years of marriage; though I know they wouldn’t mind if their marriage ended early because of The Rapture.

Dad is a Christian, Mom is a Christian, and together, they raised their four boys scripturally in the nurture and admonition of our Lord Jesus; which is something else that I can thank my parents for, as that heritage was passed down to me, which was passed down to my daughters, which is being passed down to their children.  Nothing warms my heart more than seeing my grandchildren in church, singing songs, worshipping my Lord, and Ava already witnesses for Jesus (I’ll have to tell you the story about her witnessing to a little boy on the Chick-Fil-A playground when she was about 4, it was a memory for the ages.)

Dad had a stroke when he was 78; which was a reality check for me, but he has fully recovered, and shows no visible signs of damage, which we are all thankful for.  My Dad always has had an incredible amount of spunk, and though somewhat diminished due to aging, I’d bet anyone that once he got warmed up, that he could still hit 33% of his shots from the 20’ line, and would never hit less than 80% of his free throws!  I never saw Dad dunk, but seriously, how many white men do you know that can?  I can, but only when I lower the goal to 9’ 6”, so I guess I can say that I can dunk for a white man, but never at the official height of 10’.  Only in my Roman Numeral dreams.  I love you Dad, Happy Birthday!