Happy Birthday, Old Man!

My old man is finally an actual old man today. My dad's birthdays are something I continue to be awestruck by. While my age doesn't seem to bother me, his age is insane to me. Today he turns 103, OK, OK, he actually turns 79, but it feels like a 103 to me, so that's my story and I am sticking to it.
For as long as I can remember the silent one of the family has dictated through dirty looks, and facial frowns what goes on in my immediate family's household. A simple gesture, a downward turned frown, a mere eyeballing could send shivers down our spines. That is how it has always been for the Ketcham family. Tick Dad off and there would be hell to pay. I managed to give him more wrinkles than a 10 hour bath. Every gray hair on his head is, or probably should be credited to me. My dad had no problem getting what he wanted, if and only if he was patient enough. Sometimes thing would work out beautifully for him, other times, the vein in his forehead would bulge to the point of bursting before I would do whatever it was he wanted. Now a days, I am the least of his worries. Who would have seen that coming? Certainly, not him.
Pop and I look a like, or so I am told. I tell people all the time I have his jowls, like a hound dog, they sag beneath our chins, waggle when we shake our heads and make us look as though we haven't smiled in twenty years. I have his pointy nose, which I have made fun of his reminding him his nose could double as a can opener, in case of emergencies. I have part of his blue eyes and part of my mom's hazel eyes. It is the one spot where both my parents DNA is visible immediately.
As we have aged, my old man and me, we have become friends, of sorts. I will always be his daughter, the one he looks out for, gives unwanted advice, and reminds to change her oil filter, but when we see each other, these days, we really see each other.
I used to treat my dad as if he were an ottoman in the middle of the room and I was Dick Van Dyke. I would skirt passed him, so as not to wake the beast. My dad was a military guy with high expectations of his kids, which, and I am not totally sure why I felt the need to drive him crazy, I decided that I would crush his expectations, and create new ones. My mom's favorite saying is, "Life is not fair." My dad's response was always, "Your telling me!" Where he would then direct one of his famous looks in my direction.
Dad is an only child in every sense of the word. He had daughters, so he remained the alpha male. He is exactly that, even today. He has his chair, his cup and his routine, which if you disturb, you do so at your own risk.
What most people don't know about my dad is he has the heart of a poet, the soul of an artist, which he has practiced both. He used to sketch, pets, kids, things that meant so very much to him. He has written poetry, so surprising it brought tears to my eyes. Being the stoic, silent type, one would never guess behind the gruff facade lies a romantic, a soulful man with deep seated emotions, able to be expressed with nothing but a piece of charcoal or pen.
What I love about my dad, which there are too many things to put in print in a single blog, is that he is complicated, layered, complex. He has allowed me to believe I could reinvent myself, and I have, several times over, now. He taught me if I really wanted something to go for it, do the work, take my shot. Dad is not one to gush over my accomplishments, that is just not his style. He reads my work, and says, "That's nice", the "nice" word being used by him for every occasion. I looked "nice" on my wedding day. He doesn't have to say everything to me. I understood what he was saying beyond his words a long time ago. My dad hugs me hard every time we part company. His strength hasn't diminished, even though his hair has. That hug, that singular act, is what tells me my dad is proud of me. It is his way of saying he loves me, though most times I do get to hear the words, too.
Today, I get to think about my dad and how blessed I am to have him. I didn't understand why he was so hard on me, until I grew up and had to make it on my own. Even then, when I needed him the most, he got in his car and showed up, without hesitation.
I'll be honest, most days I curse the jowls and pointy nose, but the rest of my dad... Well, I feel pretty lucky, I am as much like him as I am.