I never called him "Dad" or "Daddy". He was Papa. As I got older, it was Pa. I don't know why or how that term got started, I'm one of the youngest kids, I had no say in the matter. He told me once that when I was younger I really didn't notice him until I was about 13. One of my favorite things we used to do during the summers was just sit around the kitchen and talk. Pancakes were involved as well. No topic was off limits. Stories from his childhood were included too.
I think my favorite story he told us was when he and his friends found a pack of beer in some bushes. They got this fantastic idea that they would uncap the beer, dump it out, put vinegar in it, recap the bottles, and put the pack of "beer" where they found it.
The only sad part about this story is that they never saw the end reward of their prank. My uncle did.
Pa never wanted anything when holidays came around. When we would ask, he would smile and say, "Just your love." I would always get exasperated with that answer. Then we'd go to our usual reliable gifts. Wool socks, orange sticks, and tools.
Although, I finally got smart. His favorite piano song is Last Date by Floyd Cramer. I ordered the sheet music my first year in college and worked on it whenever I could. I got back for Christmas to a new piano with a new song. I played it for him as my present. I could tell he absolutely loved it.
Happy Father's Day, Pa. The only gift I can give you now is my love, and to be happy in my life.
