Those who know me well know that we (my sisters, brother, sister-in-law, mom and various aunts, uncles and cousins) call my dad Mister. It's a long story, but the name came about when I was around 4 and my sister Clare 3 because Mister would spend a lot of time lying in bed watching TV. His head on his pillow. He became Mister Pillow, but that name got shortened over the years. Sadly now I can't remember a time when I ever called him daddy, though I'm sure I did. There are days I think I should again, but I doubt it would be as endearing as "Mister."
There's a song by Reba McEntire called "The Greatest Man I Never Knew." In it Reba sings about her dad, he lived "just down the hall." He read his paper every day and he thought she hung the moon. Mister's room was always at the opposite end of the hall from me. To this day he reads his paper, every day. Sometimes more than one. Everything she sings about is Mister. I think Reba must have been living secretly in the third floor of our Philadelphia house or in the attic in Hollywood.
The thing that brings the song home for me is that he never said the words "I love you." My mom would say it. He never did. I don't know if it was his generation or if he just thought I knew so he didn't have to say it. I always wanted to hear it though.
One day I swallowed my pride and decided I'd say it (I never said it either). His response "I love you too." Now every Sunday when he calls he tells me that he loves me. Sometimes he even says it first.
Happy 81st Birthday Mister. You are the greatest man I know.
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