Thoughts about Daddy

Posted by Karen Hessen on Saturday, June 15, 2013 Under: Father's Day
My dad and great granddaughter, Kamille

    I don’t do this often, but yesterday I went to Willamette National Cemetery to visit my dad’s gravesite. Doug and I were in the area for a doctor’s appointment, so I thought I would stop by. I know Daddy’s not there, just the old physical shell that housed his spirit, his personality, the man who was my daddy for sixty years - who will always be my "daddy." 

    Willamette National Cemetery is the burial site for thousands of military veterans and their spouses. Mother is buried in the same grave as Daddy. I have visited other National cemeteries, including Arlington in our Nation’s capital and Pt. Loma in San Diego. I think Willamette is, by far, the most beautiful. Maybe it is the rolling hills and the patches of forest, or the panoramic views. It is the kind of place my family would have sought out for a picnic when I was a child.

    After WWII ended, Daddy was assigned to guard prisoners during one of the war trials. I remember him telling the story about living in a castle in Europe during that part of his tour of duty. I was a very young girl – still in my princess phase. Yes, even in the 1950s little girls liked princesses. I began telling everyone “Daddy lived in a castle.” He soon corrected me, telling me most of the time he lived in the mud. Daddy earned this lovely burial place by serving months in brutal combat.

    Daddy wasn’t perfect and he didn’t raise a perfect daughter. When I was born, he thought I wasn’t his. I was sixty when he died and I sure hope he got over that notion before he passed away. I am so much like him in lots of ways. Some things I inherited from Daddy I wish he had kept to himself: the dreaded, benign familial tremors; the inability to eat walnuts or cheese without coughing and sinus headaches. Other things Daddy
gifted me with I am grateful for: my dark curly hair, crooked little fingers (Daddy always said they were a sign of high IQ), an ability to figure out mathematical equations without following a formula (school teachers hate this), a sense of humor, a strong work ethic, a love for reading, a crooked smile which appears when I think I am being funny and no one else does.

    Some things I learned from Daddy I have worked to overcome: his inability to manage his finances living within the limits of his income and his unwillingness to forgive.

    Whether Daddy ever believed I was his daughter or not, it was pretty hard to deny when you looked at all the evidence, he treated me fairly and provided for me, giving me the skills necessary to stand on my own two feet when the time came for me to do so.      
    When things were difficult for me growing up he would come into my room and say, “It’s tough being a little girl isn’t it? Sometimes it’s tough being a daddy, too.”  I think Daddy was right.


In : Father's Day 


Tags: daddy ""father's day"" 
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Thoughts about Daddy

Posted by Karen Hessen on Saturday, June 15, 2013 Under: Father's Day
My dad and great granddaughter, Kamille

    I don’t do this often, but yesterday I went to Willamette National Cemetery to visit my dad’s gravesite. Doug and I were in the area for a doctor’s appointment, so I thought I would stop by. I know Daddy’s not there, just the old physical shell that housed his spirit, his personality, the man who was my daddy for sixty years - who will always be my "daddy." 

    Willamette National Cemetery is the burial site for thousands of military veterans and their spouses. Mother is buried in the same grave as Daddy. I have visited other National cemeteries, including Arlington in our Nation’s capital and Pt. Loma in San Diego. I think Willamette is, by far, the most beautiful. Maybe it is the rolling hills and the patches of forest, or the panoramic views. It is the kind of place my family would have sought out for a picnic when I was a child.

    After WWII ended, Daddy was assigned to guard prisoners during one of the war trials. I remember him telling the story about living in a castle in Europe during that part of his tour of duty. I was a very young girl – still in my princess phase. Yes, even in the 1950s little girls liked princesses. I began telling everyone “Daddy lived in a castle.” He soon corrected me, telling me most of the time he lived in the mud. Daddy earned this lovely burial place by serving months in brutal combat.

    Daddy wasn’t perfect and he didn’t raise a perfect daughter. When I was born, he thought I wasn’t his. I was sixty when he died and I sure hope he got over that notion before he passed away. I am so much like him in lots of ways. Some things I inherited from Daddy I wish he had kept to himself: the dreaded, benign familial tremors; the inability to eat walnuts or cheese without coughing and sinus headaches. Other things Daddy
gifted me with I am grateful for: my dark curly hair, crooked little fingers (Daddy always said they were a sign of high IQ), an ability to figure out mathematical equations without following a formula (school teachers hate this), a sense of humor, a strong work ethic, a love for reading, a crooked smile which appears when I think I am being funny and no one else does.

    Some things I learned from Daddy I have worked to overcome: his inability to manage his finances living within the limits of his income and his unwillingness to forgive.

    Whether Daddy ever believed I was his daughter or not, it was pretty hard to deny when you looked at all the evidence, he treated me fairly and provided for me, giving me the skills necessary to stand on my own two feet when the time came for me to do so.      
    When things were difficult for me growing up he would come into my room and say, “It’s tough being a little girl isn’t it? Sometimes it’s tough being a daddy, too.”  I think Daddy was right.


In : Father's Day 


Tags: daddy ""father's day"" 
blog comments powered by Disqus

Thoughts about Daddy

Posted by Karen Hessen on Saturday, June 15, 2013 Under: Father's Day
My dad and great granddaughter, Kamille

    I don’t do this often, but yesterday I went to Willamette National Cemetery to visit my dad’s gravesite. Doug and I were in the area for a doctor’s appointment, so I thought I would stop by. I know Daddy’s not there, just the old physical shell that housed his spirit, his personality, the man who was my daddy for sixty years - who will always be my "daddy." 

    Willamette National Cemetery is the burial site for thousands of military veterans and their spouses. Mother is buried in the same grave as Daddy. I have visited other National cemeteries, including Arlington in our Nation’s capital and Pt. Loma in San Diego. I think Willamette is, by far, the most beautiful. Maybe it is the rolling hills and the patches of forest, or the panoramic views. It is the kind of place my family would have sought out for a picnic when I was a child.

    After WWII ended, Daddy was assigned to guard prisoners during one of the war trials. I remember him telling the story about living in a castle in Europe during that part of his tour of duty. I was a very young girl – still in my princess phase. Yes, even in the 1950s little girls liked princesses. I began telling everyone “Daddy lived in a castle.” He soon corrected me, telling me most of the time he lived in the mud. Daddy earned this lovely burial place by serving months in brutal combat.

    Daddy wasn’t perfect and he didn’t raise a perfect daughter. When I was born, he thought I wasn’t his. I was sixty when he died and I sure hope he got over that notion before he passed away. I am so much like him in lots of ways. Some things I inherited from Daddy I wish he had kept to himself: the dreaded, benign familial tremors; the inability to eat walnuts or cheese without coughing and sinus headaches. Other things Daddy
gifted me with I am grateful for: my dark curly hair, crooked little fingers (Daddy always said they were a sign of high IQ), an ability to figure out mathematical equations without following a formula (school teachers hate this), a sense of humor, a strong work ethic, a love for reading, a crooked smile which appears when I think I am being funny and no one else does.

    Some things I learned from Daddy I have worked to overcome: his inability to manage his finances living within the limits of his income and his unwillingness to forgive.

    Whether Daddy ever believed I was his daughter or not, it was pretty hard to deny when you looked at all the evidence, he treated me fairly and provided for me, giving me the skills necessary to stand on my own two feet when the time came for me to do so.      
    When things were difficult for me growing up he would come into my room and say, “It’s tough being a little girl isn’t it? Sometimes it’s tough being a daddy, too.”  I think Daddy was right.


In : Father's Day 


Tags: daddy ""father's day"" 
blog comments powered by Disqus

Thoughts about Daddy

Posted by Karen Hessen on Saturday, June 15, 2013 Under: Father's Day
My dad and great granddaughter, Kamille

    I don’t do this often, but yesterday I went to Willamette National Cemetery to visit my dad’s gravesite. Doug and I were in the area for a doctor’s appointment, so I thought I would stop by. I know Daddy’s not there, just the old physical shell that housed his spirit, his personality, the man who was my daddy for sixty years - who will always be my "daddy." 

    Willamette National Cemetery is the burial site for thousands of military veterans and their spouses. Mother is buried in the same grave as Daddy. I have visited other National cemeteries, including Arlington in our Nation’s capital and Pt. Loma in San Diego. I think Willamette is, by far, the most beautiful. Maybe it is the rolling hills and the patches of forest, or the panoramic views. It is the kind of place my family would have sought out for a picnic when I was a child.

    After WWII ended, Daddy was assigned to guard prisoners during one of the war trials. I remember him telling the story about living in a castle in Europe during that part of his tour of duty. I was a very young girl – still in my princess phase. Yes, even in the 1950s little girls liked princesses. I began telling everyone “Daddy lived in a castle.” He soon corrected me, telling me most of the time he lived in the mud. Daddy earned this lovely burial place by serving months in brutal combat.

    Daddy wasn’t perfect and he didn’t raise a perfect daughter. When I was born, he thought I wasn’t his. I was sixty when he died and I sure hope he got over that notion before he passed away. I am so much like him in lots of ways. Some things I inherited from Daddy I wish he had kept to himself: the dreaded, benign familial tremors; the inability to eat walnuts or cheese without coughing and sinus headaches. Other things Daddy
gifted me with I am grateful for: my dark curly hair, crooked little fingers (Daddy always said they were a sign of high IQ), an ability to figure out mathematical equations without following a formula (school teachers hate this), a sense of humor, a strong work ethic, a love for reading, a crooked smile which appears when I think I am being funny and no one else does.

    Some things I learned from Daddy I have worked to overcome: his inability to manage his finances living within the limits of his income and his unwillingness to forgive.

    Whether Daddy ever believed I was his daughter or not, it was pretty hard to deny when you looked at all the evidence, he treated me fairly and provided for me, giving me the skills necessary to stand on my own two feet when the time came for me to do so.      
    When things were difficult for me growing up he would come into my room and say, “It’s tough being a little girl isn’t it? Sometimes it’s tough being a daddy, too.”  I think Daddy was right.


In : Father's Day 


Tags: daddy ""father's day"" 
blog comments powered by Disqus

Thoughts about Daddy

Posted by Karen Hessen on Saturday, June 15, 2013 Under: Father's Day
My dad and great granddaughter, Kamille

    I don’t do this often, but yesterday I went to Willamette National Cemetery to visit my dad’s gravesite. Doug and I were in the area for a doctor’s appointment, so I thought I would stop by. I know Daddy’s not there, just the old physical shell that housed his spirit, his personality, the man who was my daddy for sixty years - who will always be my "daddy." 

    Willamette National Cemetery is the burial site for thousands of military veterans and their spouses. Mother is buried in the same grave as Daddy. I have visited other National cemeteries, including Arlington in our Nation’s capital and Pt. Loma in San Diego. I think Willamette is, by far, the most beautiful. Maybe it is the rolling hills and the patches of forest, or the panoramic views. It is the kind of place my family would have sought out for a picnic when I was a child.

    After WWII ended, Daddy was assigned to guard prisoners during one of the war trials. I remember him telling the story about living in a castle in Europe during that part of his tour of duty. I was a very young girl – still in my princess phase. Yes, even in the 1950s little girls liked princesses. I began telling everyone “Daddy lived in a castle.” He soon corrected me, telling me most of the time he lived in the mud. Daddy earned this lovely burial place by serving months in brutal combat.

    Daddy wasn’t perfect and he didn’t raise a perfect daughter. When I was born, he thought I wasn’t his. I was sixty when he died and I sure hope he got over that notion before he passed away. I am so much like him in lots of ways. Some things I inherited from Daddy I wish he had kept to himself: the dreaded, benign familial tremors; the inability to eat walnuts or cheese without coughing and sinus headaches. Other things Daddy
gifted me with I am grateful for: my dark curly hair, crooked little fingers (Daddy always said they were a sign of high IQ), an ability to figure out mathematical equations without following a formula (school teachers hate this), a sense of humor, a strong work ethic, a love for reading, a crooked smile which appears when I think I am being funny and no one else does.

    Some things I learned from Daddy I have worked to overcome: his inability to manage his finances living within the limits of his income and his unwillingness to forgive.

    Whether Daddy ever believed I was his daughter or not, it was pretty hard to deny when you looked at all the evidence, he treated me fairly and provided for me, giving me the skills necessary to stand on my own two feet when the time came for me to do so.      
    When things were difficult for me growing up he would come into my room and say, “It’s tough being a little girl isn’t it? Sometimes it’s tough being a daddy, too.”  I think Daddy was right.


In : Father's Day 


Tags: daddy ""father's day"" 
blog comments powered by Disqus
 
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