Felsh

My dad went AWOL with my mom and missed his birthday. Well, he didn't miss it, exactly. We're missing it! Dad's in Paris celebrating with world-famous hot chocolate and night time views of the trendy Marais. Happy birthday, Dad!

For my dad's birthday, I would like to apologize for one Saturday morning in 1989. My parents had a small car, an orange MG dubbed "The Pumpkin," that they let me drive to high school. I really wanted to drive it to youth symphony because I thought it would make me look cool. My dad said no because it was too far to go in such a tiny car. He seemed so overprotective! I steeled my nerves and drove the Pumpkin right up the driveway with my dad running after me, calling me back. I drove to my rehearsal. If the car did make me look cool, I didn't notice because I was sick the whole time about disobeying. Sorry, Dad! At least I didn't get a ticket.

I'm glad I survived that Saturday morning indiscretion and went on to worry my dad in countless other ways! He worries about his 8 grandchildren, too, and keeps tabs on their comings and goings. Whenever I take a kid to the doctor, Scott reminds me, "You better call your dad and tell him what the doctor said." He asks the kids about their schoolwork, teaches them things from books and scriptures and sticks up for the kids when I wonder what's wrong with them. He knows where their music teachers live and what time they get out of ballet and what they're working on at school. Last winter when Scott tore his achilles, Dad took over driving Golda to and from play practice three times a week. Nobody asked him to, he just took over that job. Imagine a 20-minute drive six times a week with a surly 12-year-old! In a few years, that surly tween might be speeding up the street in a huff and I'll be home praying for her safe return. I'll call my dad and he'll wait with me. He's been there. He'll know what to do. Just like he always does.