Spaghetti Day

It was spaghetti day at my house in remembrance of my daddy's birthday and his life. Daddy was always complimentary about any meal, but he especially loved spaghetti and could eat a whopping amount at one sitting. That and mashed potatoes. Lucky Daddy. He got the thin genes to go along with his good appetite. If a dinner didn't turn out well he would still eat with gusto, but with his signature broad smile and good humor, we might hear him comment, "It'll keep a man alive." When the meal was a really good one, and with his built in sense of comedic timing, he might jest, "I wonder what the poor people are eating tonight." The family still rarely eats together without a chuckle provoking quote from Daddy. I guess it is a way of still having him with us. The image I carry of him now is more from my childhood than my adulthood, a young and handsome, fun-loving daddy who made a buddy of his only daughter by reading long stories to me, riding to the beach in his convertible, sharing a crossword puzzle, painting, or horseback riding. After I became a nurse, he would inquire, "Tell me about your most interesting patient." He was accepting and gentle of heart. He showed interest in me and what I did, but really, he was interested in all people. When he died, it was his distinctive innate wit that people remembered the most. It was not in telling a boring or bawdy joke or a laugh at someone else's expense. Instead Daddy had a light-hearted take on life, and his curious observations came through in his conversations and comments. I will always miss my daddy, my best buddy, but I think he would be pleased that we still honor him every December ninth with a nice dish of spaghetti.