Today, in a land far, far away, my Dad turns 72.  The last year or so has been rough on him, and he’s suddenly gone from Dad-worrying-about-me to Dad-worrying-about-him.

Not that I truly believe he’s stopped worrying about me, not if my inbox is any indication, but he’s got a tremor in his hand, he doesn’t like to travel anymore and his hearing is slowly leaving the building.  It makes being so far away a little bit harder.

My Dad is, and was, a work-a-holic.  He always put in extra hours, received phone calls in the middle of the night, and traveled, literally, all over the planet to rescue databases & computer systems in need of overhauling.

Yet despite all the work, he was always a very hands-on Dad. I remember playing board games with him, tennis in the street, skiing down slope-after-slope and intently watching boxing matches & car races on tv… though those bored the heck out of me.

Now he’s a very hands-on Opa.  He will do anything, and everything, for his grandkids.  When Soren had his first job offer, Opa scoured the internet and his personal network on the company’s reputation, benefits, room for growth, anything & everything that might impact Soren. Now he’s scoping out neighborhoods in Texas and offering well-researched advice on solar panels.

The only thing he doesn’t do anymore, not since summer of 2014, is travel.  He does not like to brought out of his routine, he doesn’t like the travel anymore.  This from the man who gave me the world.  The man who moved to California, Holland, back again, and again, and again.  The man who drove us through the United States (more than once!).  The man who took us to Hawaii, Mexico, all over Europe and even to Australia & Fiji.  The man I got my travel bug from.  That man does not want to travel anymore.

And suddenly, I am worrying about him.  Today especially, as he turns 72, my thoughts are filled with my Dad. Mostly happy thoughts, amazing memories and lots of love, but also that niggling worry. He is getting older, and I’m in Timbuktu.  Birthdays really bring out the best and the worst, don’t they?

My Dad and his big brother Jean (L) circa 1950dad