"I Love Me Too!"

If you ask my kids to tell you a favorite memory of my dad, other than the one about O J Simpson hiding in our attic, I think one of the first things they would say is they remember how whenever they would say; "I love you, Grandpa", he would always respond; "I love me too!"

That scenario didn't begin with them. It was a long-standing script that Dad used all the time with me when I was growing up as well. I still hear his voice saying it.  I even remember my response would be to go and punch his arm, or roll my eyes.  But I knew that if I said it to him, I'd always get the same response.  Once, in my teens, at one of those Daddy-Daughter moments, I said it while I hugged him, my head nestled against his big, broad chest. The moment rushed over me in my affection for this father of mine that I adored and the words came gushing out. In return, he gave me his typical response, and... I broke into tears.  His eyes widened in horror.  Dad never responded well to tears.

     "What?  What did I do?"

     "Dad, can't you just once say; 'I love you too'?  Just once?"

     "Oh. Umm. Yeah, yeah, ok. I uh, I love you too. Ok?"

After that, I think he avoided hugs from me until after high school, fearing overt teenaged emotions and angst and that he might actually have to say that dreaded phrase again.

Even when the kids were born, one after another in what felt like quick succession, he couldn't deliver those four words without his usual rift.  When he came to visit each one of them for the first time, I'd say upon his departure; "I love you, Dad". Smiling with the pride of a new grandfather who'd been doting over the babe in his arms, he'd respond in the usual way. I smiled as he'd leave. As they grew, the kids came to expect that response and it always made them giggle. He'd look at me when the exchange would bring about the giggle fits along with "Oh Grandpa! You're silly!"

I don't know exactly when it changed.  But I do know that the very last time I saw my father alive, on a visit to his home in Nevada, we were packing the car and preparing to make the drive home. The kids all gave him hugs and they laughed when the usual "love banter" transpired.  "I love you, Grandpa!" and they all responded in chorus with him; "I love me too!"  Standing next to him on the curb, I leaned in for a hug. He held me longer than usual. I held on longer than usual, my face nestled into his no longer big, no longer broad chest.  "I love you, Dad."  The longest pause, and then; "I love you too, Pua." And right then and there, I knew I'd never see him again.  I think we both knew.

I miss that guy more than anyone could ever possibly know. The truth is, as annoying as I thought his response was to those four little words, I'd give anything to hear him say them again.