This is a post about my dad. I spoke at his funeral and this was what I said:
I think my dad would laugh if anyone called me "daddy's
little girl." I left that role to my sisters, who used it to their
advantage, which he never seemed to mind. He was totally outnumbered by
women in our house and I think (probably after those adolescent years)
we were able to share an easy friendship. Our relationship was filled
with a lot of small, simple moments.
My first memory of my dad was at age 4, when I got my tonsils out. He
came to visit me at the hospital and made milkshakes out of the bowls
of ice cream on my dinner tray. It was the only way to get me to eat.
He also made paper chains with me and gave me a panda bear clock. It
was the kind where the eyes moved back and forth in that creepy way
but it hung in my bedroom until I went to college.
I remember dad picking me up from ballet class and letting me sit on
his lap to "drive the car," long before Britney Spears did it.
When I was in middle school, he tolerated my Michael Jackson obsession
with mild amusement and we'd spend Sunday afternoons at used bookstores
hunting down the latest Sweet Valley High books for my collection. He
laughed when I told him that I still have them all.
I remember him driving me to school in 9th grade and giving me "the
talk". You know, the one that starts off,"Boys only have one thing on
their minds …" I think I was too embarrassed to do anything but sit
there and listen, but it is probably the best advice he ever gave me.
I remember driving to Philadelphia in a U-haul with my entire life
packed up inside it, my cat, Ginger, trying to sleep on his feet while
he was driving. And how we arrived to my new home on my 25th birthday.
We went out for hoagies to celebrate the move and my birthday. When we
went out to buy groceries, he couldn't believe we couldn't buy beer at
the grocery store! I remember him asking me if Philadelphia was a dry
I remember coming back to Florida to visit and sitting with him and
talking about work, movies and all of my traveling adventures. It was
nice to just sit and talk and be satisfied just spending time with each
I'm so glad I had a chance to see him at Thanksgiving when he and mom
came to visit. On our last night together, over a pizza, he told me how
proud he was of me. How happy he was that he didn't have to worry about
I'm going to miss the little things, like our chats and hearing about
the movies he liked. I'm going to miss coming to visit and hearing him
tell me that I look good, that he liked that I was growing my hair
longer or that the color of the shirt I was wearing looked nice.
I'm going to miss him asking how many miles I have on my car and when was the last time I got my oil changed.
All those little things add up to leave a really big hole in my heart.
I love you, dad.
P. Jeffrey Singleton
September 25, 1947-December 15, 2009