Make Father's Day special for Dad

Charles Gallo
(1906-1968)

Happy Father's Day to all the Dads out there — may your families treat you well and show how much they care, not just today, but in every little way, every day of the year.

To my brother and nephew, I wish them a special day and hope they know how much we all care.

And to my Dad, who passed away so many years ago, I keep him close by rekindling memories that are dear to my heart and keep him near.

It's the little things we often take for granted and then realize how monumental they were after someone we love has gone.

Daily tasks, such as cooking and gardening, can conjure memories as strong as the day that bookmarked them in your mind.

Dad was the breadwinner in the family — an Italian immigrant who worked hard and realized the American Dream by owning his own business and home. He was the "tough" guy with an outer shell that easily would melt away as I jumped into his lap — his little girl, all ponytails and pedal pushers.

I remember him best in his soft flannel shirt with the chest pocket plump with peanuts for the squirrel he had trained to come climb on his shoulder as we sat in the backyard and waited and waited.

A good cook in his own right, and a fondness for spice, Dad gave Mom full reign in the kitchen, but he often could be spied sprinkling more black pepper into the pasta fagiola when Mom wasn't looking or slipping extra hot sausages into the Sunday pot of tomato sauce.

As I work in my own garden tending the tomatoes, I can almost hear the soft rhythmic sound of his tearing old bed sheets into ties to stake the tomatoes that were his pride.

He kept the patch of pansies growing strong and showed me which ones to pick for a little bouquet to take to school for the statue of the Virgin Mary, reminding me not to smell them along the way so the fragrance would be unspoiled for the Blessed Mother.

Dad never wore jeans, always slacks with pleats, even in the garden with a white T-shirt and bandanna tied around his neck.

Dad took pride in the barbecue he made out of cinder blocks and grates, and which he commandeered like a captain on a ship at family cookouts. He made sure the big round tub was filled with water and a block of ice, loaded with bottles of White Rock sodas for us kids at those cookouts.

At the dining table, Dad always sat at the head of the table with a basket bottle of chianti close by his side and a tablespoon in hand to twirl his linguine.

He was the one to huddle us into the back of the station wagon to go for a ride to see the Christmas lights and decorations at neighboring homes.

Dad's big field trip for the family was either Catskill Game Farm or Bear Mountain State Park, a trip we all loved to make, even though I was afraid to hold the feed steady in my palm for the baby animals to take.

So, remember your Dad today.

Give him a hug; make his favorite meal; tell him you love him and will always keep him near.

Me, I'll add a little more spice to the Sunday meal, pour a glass of wine and pick a bunch of flowers for the table — Dad would have appreciated that.