Below are links to previous blog posts about my Pop. Please read at least one to understand why he was so special to me and why, as I battle both a progressive lung disease and the aftermath a my radical nephrectomy for kidney cancer, I’ll always turn to my Pop for reasons to keep laughing and keep living.
If you hear me say something or see me do something, chances are I learned that from my Pop.
That’s my Dad. You can call him “Rich”. His co-workers called him “Dick” but my mother always called him “Rich”. I called him “Pop” or “Dad”. For some reason, I don’t remember ever calling him “Daddy”. I never felt that word was strong enough for my Dad.
Calling him Dad was a real sign of respect from me, at least in my mind. When I would introduce him to people or talk to others about him, I always used “Dad”. “Pop” was more playful, more casual, more personal.
“Hey, Pop, do you want to go to the diner?”
“Hey, Pop, did you see the Phillies game last night?”
“What do you need at the store, Pop?”
“There aren’t any Christmas movies on TV in September, Pop. I checked.”
“Yeah, I can reset your watch, Pop.”
“A plain cheeseburger doesn’t mean that it comes without cheese, Pop. Don’t be mad at the server. Just order a plain hamburger.”
“You have to push the ‘TV’ button, then the “cable” button on the remote to make it work, Pop.” (Usually said with exasperation over the phone as I tried to work while he was mystified by the cable remote.)
“Tommy needs you, Pop.”
“I need you, Pop.”
“I miss you and love you, Pop.”