The Bee's Knees

Dear Dad,

As a kid my love for you was simple. You swam with me, you gave me underdogs on the big swing in between flipping meat on the grill and you always said I rubbed your feet better than Cristall did. I love that you wore cuff links when you came to my elementary school to teach kids how to brush and floss. Actually, you're well-dressed in all of my childhood memories with the exception of you mowing in your Larry Bird white Nike shorts that had a 1" inseam. I think all five children have memories of your white legs, their seven leg hairs, and your defined hamstrings. It's your legs I want to talk about, actually.

When we were buying groceries in Alabama I was walking in front of Greg and RE. I heard RE ask Greg very quietly, "Dad, do I walk like Mom?" He told her she didn't. I don't know why he lied to her other than he didn't want to ruin her spring break. About a month later RE and I were walking on the sidewalk together with the sun behind us. It was beyond evident from the synchronized shadows that our legs move the same way.

"Mom, do I walk like you?"

"Yes."

(slumping posture, exhale of sadness, head shaking) "Oh no."

I could relate to her feelings. I was a sophomore at BYU when you flew out to Utah for a dental convention. You pulled up to Heritage Halls in your rental car and I raced out to get my Hello Bear Hug. You hung out with me and my roommates and donated a giant pack of TP to our cause. After my Goodbye Bear Hug you walked back out to your car. We all raced to the balcony to wave you off. My roommate said, "You walk like your dad." I was stunned. Walked like you? Not a chance. You walked like an old man.

I am only 36 but the issue is confirmed: I walk like you. I have your knees and I have to wear braces for them to be able to work out or hike or do yard work. I wish I had your thick hair or your scuplted leg muscles but all I got were your lousy, good-for-nothing knees.

Then again, your knees HAVE done some impressive things. They endured jobs on horseback and survived Vietnam. They routinely beat some Tongans at racquetball during your prime. One knee folded enough for you to form a perfect Can Opener* at Aspen Grove and secure the "Biggest Splash" title. I believe your knees' swan song was hiking Mount Baldy at Philmont.

Your knees also prayed a lot. Morning family prayer before Suz raced to Seminary and kids jumped on buses. "On your ka-nees, please," was a saying you repeated for years before we all knelt to bless the food/peek at each other under the kitchen table. I recall you kneeling by your king-sized bed at night, leaning on your burnt orange blanket that had a fuzzy, foamy texture.

I'm all grown up and now you come to stay at my house. We generally talk until 2 a.m. before deciding it's time to hit the hay. Mom will be nasal rinsing in the bathroom and your bedroom door is ajar waiting for her return. I walk by your room on my way to let Lucy out and through the 2" opening spy you kneeling in prayer on the side of the guest bed. Just like when I was a kid.

You are loyal, Dad. You are loyal to mom and you are loyal as a father. I know you love me. I know you have loved me since the day I was born breech and that your love will not stop with death. I know you believe in my potential and that you will never give up on me. I know you pray for me by name a lot. Maybe even every night.

So I'll take your crummy knees and I'll pray for my daughter on them. And I'll swim with her even though I worry a little about other adults noticing my blinding whiteness and jiggly legs that have a shocking absence of hamstrings. And I'll give her underdogs when I grill outside, and you should know that I can cook a filet better than Greg now. I can even do the perfect 90-degree grill marks. If I grilled a T-bone, I would save the T for you so you could suck the marrow out and get greasy lips like you did when I was a kid.

I love you, Dad. Forever.

Love, Wass

*Known for the large splashes it produces, the Can Opener is performed by springing from a diving board, pulling one leg upwards towards the chest, securing the leg with one's arms, and tilting the body back to a 35 degree angle. After hitting the water with the correct combination of form and entry angle, the emergence of splashes exceeding 15 feet are common.