I don’t remember when it happened. It just did. We all remember the first time we had our first kiss or saw our kids take their first step. But I can’t for the life of me remember when I stopped calling my dad “Daddy”.
It’s much like I don’t recall the last time I had to help bathe my kids. It just happened one day. Without thought and without fanfaRE.
I remember a college friend sort of made fun of me. She was from New Jersey and didn’t understand the whole Southern “Daddy” name. I remember her asking me, “What are you, two?” (said in a very Jersey accent!)
I defended my stance, but it made me aware that it did sound a bit silly. Soon after, it didn’t matter because he became “Papa” after our family’s first grandchild was born in1978.
I went back and forth calling him Dad or Papa. His dad, my grandfather, had always been “Papa”. My Nana’s dad had been “Papa” as well.
Sadly it wasn’t for very long. He died about 8 years later when I was pregnant with my firstborn, Daryl. That was over 29 years ago and I wish that I could call him “Daddy” again.
The way I see it, it doesn’t matter what you call your dad or grandfather (hopefully it is a “nice” name!)
If they are still among us, take the time to appreciate them. And if not, take time to remember them.
So, to all of you fathers, dads, papas, pops, poppys, papis and whatever term of endearment you may go by, Happy Father’s Day.
SUE BROWN is the editor of the Pleasanton Express. Contact her at firstname.lastname@example.org or write at P.O. Drawer 880, Pleasanton, TX 78064.