Dear Dad,
Thank you for teaching me the importance of organization and planning. Every family vacation, every party, every tailgate, every shopping trip, Christmas card list, gift list, every errand ever run, has all been planned out and documented in your meticulous, tiny handwriting on a Dad Pad (TM me) somewhere. There were ones in the car, on the edge of the counter, in your pocket; we will be finding Dad Pads around the house for decades. But they worked; you never forgot to have handy anything we needed, and with three very different daughters and a (*cough* slightly disorganized) wife, that is an accomplishment indeed. Now that I have a (*cough* slightly disorganized) spouse of my own, I have my own running lists scattered throughout the house, and even more at the office. I would be lost without them!
Thank you, Dad, for teaching me the value of networking. You would never call it that -- the concept is too cold and calculating, and that's not how you practice the art. Instead it's, "Hey, Kris, I know a guy..." and "A buddy of mine helped me out..." and "Do you remember Andy from Eastern Bag? Really great guy, known him for years. Anyway, he..." Over the years, you built a vast web of work associates, tradespeople in town, people you met at conferences and golf tournaments and in bars, and you stay in touch and stay loyal to them, and in turn they stay loyal to you. It's a remarkable thing to watch and try to emulate; I wasn't very good at it when I was in my 20s and 30s, but I'm getting better at it now, especially at work. The really remarkable thing about it though, Dad, is for you it is effortless; it's just the way you engage with people, helping them out and having them help you out, building relationships of trust and reciprocity everywhere you go. I'm still learning my way with that, but I have a great role model.
Thank you, Dad, for pushing me in school, and making sure I went to, literally, the best schools in the country. I knew and you knew that when I got an A- on my report card and you teased me about not getting an A that you weren't actually teasing; you showed me your report cards from when you were my age to show me what to strive for. You wanted me to succeed the way you had, to work hard and learn everything I could -- and then best of all, when I proved I was smart enough and I worked hard enough to get into schools we couldn't afford, you and Mom made sure I could afford to go to them. We weren't rich, but I sure as hell got a rich education, and it has made a huge difference in my life.
(P.S. The only Bs I ever got in school were for penmanship and geography. I still have my report cards too. Why couldn't I have inherited your handwriting?!)
Thank you, Dad, for loving Mom the way you do. In photo after photo of the two of you over the last 40-plus years, you have the most dumb-struck look on your face, saying to all the world, "Can you believe what a catch I got?" I waited until I found a man who looked at me just like that, and I married him. Best thing I ever did.
Thank you, Dad, for being so smart, and passing that trait on to me. I'm smart the way you are -- we know how to solve puzzles, how to take ideas and processes apart and make them more efficient and organized. We can walk into a situation and immediately know how to break it down and re-build it better. We can't do it to engines or electronic equipment, and we're not really interested in philosophy or literature or art, but there isn't a method of doing something we don't itch to improve. I've seen you do it with packing the car for trips (I am also an ace at that one), in countless board games (but you still beat me, dammit!), in building and decorating your house and your gardens, in the way you broke down the boat every winter, in the way you organized all those parties and tailgates, in everything. It's the trait I am most known for at work, and I owe that completely to you.
Thank you, Dad, for speaking frankly to me about money. We didn't talk about it much when I was younger, but I watched you create a routine for paying the bills, and I had a fair idea of where we ranked on the economic scale. As an adult, though, you've taken the time to talk to me about retirement and savings, not only explaining how you manage it for you and Mom, but given me advice on what I should be doing for me and my spouse. As I am the financial planner in my marriage -- like you are in yours -- this has helped me in so many ways. Please keep doing this.
Thank you, Dad, for being the only white-collar management professional I knew growing up. Our neighborhood and family had so many examples of hard-working people, of teachers and real estate agents and coaches and nurses and telephone lineman and small-business accountants and firemen and machinists and bank tellers. You were the only one I knew who wore a suit every day, and had an office and a secretary and employees. I thought you had the coolest job in the world; you got to be The Boss. Does it really surprise you I wanted to follow in your footsteps? I may not be a boss now, but I do have a desk and a suit, and I love what I do. Thank you for showing me that was a career path.
(You still look good in a suit, too!)
Thank you, Dad, for your sense of humor. You are never afraid to be self-deprecating, and you find amusement in ordinary things, like I do. Your chuckle when I tell you a funny story is one of my favorite sounds. Also, you are a giant goof.
When I was a kid, I wanted to be just like you. Turns out, I pretty much am. Thank you for that.
I love you,
Kristen
P.S. Happy Father's Day.
