For My Dad

Since today is Father’s Day, I’ve decided to post a blog about my dad, Wayne Predmore.  (Please forgive the quality of the photo.  My dad hates having his picture taken, and this was the best my son could get.)

 First I’d like to say that “Father’s Day”, sounds kind of stuffy.  To me, it’s “Dad’s Day”.  It just sounds more fitting and comfortable to me; especially since my dad isn’t the stuffy type.  If the truth were told, I’ve called my dad, “dad”, for a long time now; though in my heart, he’s always been, and will always be my “daddy”. 

Every year, I hear radio and television commercials about “what dad wants for Father’s Day”; they never fit my dad.  My dad isn’t one to wear ties, unless it’s necessary.  He’s not the rugged, outdoor type; the sports type; or any of the other things described in the commercials.  I think the closest a commercial has come to ever sounding like my dad is one that said, “dad likes to eat”.  That sort of fits my dad; he does love his cookies. 

 My dad is easy to get things for however.  He loves gadgets.  The nice thing about the gadgets my dad gets is, they’re useful.  Well, most of them anyway. 

 He also has some collections that are just his.  I’ll clarify this by saying that, as a couple, my parents have things they collect; and they also have separate collections.  For my dad, it’s pens with advertising on them; ball caps with advertising, or other things on them; and cow cream pitchers.

 Growing up, I’d always get pens from anywhere I went, to give to my dad.  When my son was about a year old, we got him a hat with my son’s picture on it.  Also over the years, I’ve made my version of cow cream pitchers for my dad.

 There are just so many things I could say about my dad.  How he used to work at Fred Meyer, and knew Mr. Meyer personally.  How he worked 35 years for the post office, always the graveyard shift. Before that, he worked at a Standard gas station, (it’s Chevron now), in Portland, Oregon.  How once, Nat King Cole came into the station and ended up singing while his car was being worked on.  I could tell you all the stories he’s told me over the years about his childhood, the navy, his jobs, all of that; but I won’t.  Not because I don’t want to; because I couldn’t tell his stories as well as he can. 

 Everything I’ve written so far tells you a bit about my dad; it’s just the surface though.

My dad is one of those guys that doesn’t say “I love you”.  When I was younger it bothered me; especially since we clashed a lot when I was a kid.

I’ve always been told I’m just like my dad.  Again, that bothered me sometimes when I was a kid, because of the clashing we did. 

As I get older though, I see things a lot differently.  My dad may have never told me specifically that he loves me; but I KNOW he does.  My dad is a living example of “actions speak louder than words”.  For all the times he’s never said “I love you”, there’s been an equal number of times, (if not more), where he’s done things for me, or others in the family, that he didn’t have to do.  He just did it, because he wanted to. 

My dad is also very loyal to his family.  One of the best examples I’ll always remember is when I had an internship at a local TV station.  It’s a station that I grew up watching the news on, because my parents always did.  I couldn’t get hired on to the station full-time, and ended up quitting, to take another job.  

The day I quit was the day my dad stopped watching the news on that station.  Didn’t matter that I was the one who decided to quit; if his daughter wasn’t good enough for them, he was just going to watch another station from then on. Over the years, he has gone back to watching the news on that station, though he does still switch around at times.

As far as me being “just like my dad”, yeah, I am; and I’m okay with that.  I’m especially okay with me having the same sense of humor as my dad.  My sense of humor is one of my favorite things about me; and seeing how my dad is, anyone could tell he’s where it came from.  Though I’m pretty sure my dad would tell you I’m a bit more warped than he is.  I am.  I like to say that I got the good part of humor from him, and expanded on it.

In other ways, I’m different than my dad.  I’m very much a hugger; my dad isn’t.  I say, “I love you”; he doesn’t.  In fact, it kind of makes my dad uncomfortable when someone says it to him.  Again, it’s not that he doesn’t have those feelings; he just grew up in a different era when guys didn’t say stuff like that. 

I used to think if I said it to him enough, he’d get used to it, and start doing it too.  Then I realized, I was just making him uncomfortable, which I didn’t like doing to him.  So I don’t say it to him anymore; not because I don’t love him, but because I don’t like making my dad feel uncomfortable; especially if it’s in front of other people.  As I put it, I don’t want him to feel all “squirmy”.   Instead, I try to show my dad in little ways that I love him.  Guess I learned that from him too. 

We still clash sometimes, we probably always will.  It’s what happens when two people are so much alike. Don’t ever mistake it for me not loving my dad, or vice versa; as stated throughout this blog, the love is definitely there, you just have to look instead of listen for it.

When it comes to that “squirmy” feeling my dad gets about this stuff; well, that’s where my actions will speak for me instead of words.  I’ve written this post, and put it here on my blog.  My next step is to print off a copy for my dad for “Dad’s Day” and give it to him.  He can read it when no one else is around.  Then, if he feels “squirmy”, no one else will know. 

So, happy Father’s Day to all the fathers, dad’s, daddies, etc.; out there, and especially to my daddy.  Thank you for being my dad and putting up with me all these years.