Mama and I were talking about you behind your back.  Again.

Instead of the typical reaction Mama has auto-programmed for years "you know how he is" and "you can't change your father - learn to embrace him"  she said something new.  "He is a very good Dziadek (grandfather in Polish), isn't he?"  It was said in response to us reminiscing about the red Sharpie graffiti on your Benjamin Moore painted walls and hand-blown glass sculpture from Poland and the ox-leather drum you dragged back from Mali.  All courtesy of the Feenster leaving her mark in Chicago.

I have to admit that I was frightened when you shuffled away from the crime scene in a hurry.  Lola's eyes grew three sizes when she saw the belt in your hands when you returned.  You teased the child we have renamed as Hurricane Feenie, whom loves markers, until Lola interrupted "did you spank my mommy with that when she was a little girl?"  Jay stood frozen waiting for a response.

You blinked twice, nodded your head once and confessed before my three children.  "Yes.  Yes, I did.  But I shouldn't have."  Our eyes briefly met and for a second I thought you would lecture me about the devastating results of raising three hurricanes.  But instead you smiled and your eyes sparkled.  "Ale zolza!"  You giggled.  "What a brat!"  You threw yourself into finding a remedy to erase permanent marker from Polish glass and African leather and American wall paint while chanting,  "Ale zolza!"

Tata.  My son loves wings because of you.  You took him to Hooters.  Taught him math.  Showed him how to work hard.   The girls beg for Polish cartoons now and can't eat an apple without thinking of you. You call me in the morning asking why I didn't post our latest conversation or ask me to take a post down or tell me to post your pictures and then you ask me why I never blog about you. I've learned to embrace you like Mama encouraged all these years and listen to the most important lesson you  have taught me. To follow my heart.

You are my biggest fan and I am yours.  Happy Father's Day, Tata.