Fatherson relationships change, but love remains

At some point, the Dee falls off the Dad.

My son Aidan had a speech deficit, but the only way anyone would notice it these days is in his pronunciation of double consonants. He breaks them in two, thus rendering kitten into “kit ten” and bunny into “bun knee.” And so, for 15 years he called me Dad Dee.

But something shifted in the past few months, and now he calls me Dad. In fact, Brian and I are no longer Dad Dee and Pop Pa. We are the Dads.

A lot gets thrown out with that Dee. It feels like a step down. Back when my sons called me Daddy, I could boogie the Snacky Dinner dance at Safeway, and both Zane and Aidan joined in. Now they pretend they don’t know me.

There was a time when Aidan was proud to be my electronics whisperer. When I’d be writing this column and the iMac crashed, he would be the one to find it in the ether. But now, he just rolls his eyes and says, “You were probably just going to tell the head stuck in the stair case story again .”

When I laugh or sneeze too loudly, I get “the look.” Without a word, I can feel it say: “Really? You don’t have a volume control on your nose, Dad?”

Zane also grew into an eyerolling champion, and doesn’t hesitate to point out when I’ve told the same Dad joke more than once. When I say “drat,” Aidan asks, “Can’t you just say ‘ damn’ like other fathers?” And hugging in front of teenage peers? Impossible.

I adjust. I text from the kitchen that dinner is ready. I no longer expect them in the living room to watch “Avatar.” I don’t have to like it, but I still have to love them.

My own father must have gone through this during my teen brat years. At some point, right around the time that we disagreed about “Star Wars” and “Disco Inferno,” I dropped Daddy entirely and started calling him Hap.

It was his nickname when he was a lieutenant in the army.

Hap was a soldier during World War II. He was in the 3rd Armored Division “Spearhead” Tank Corps, under the leadership of Gen. George S. Patton. That story has been told before in this column, but it bears repeating: Hap was a hero. He landed a tank on the beaches of Normandy. He fought through the Falaise Pocket. He took on panzers ( German armored vehicles) in the Battle of the Bulge. In the Has ten rat hS cher pens eel engagement in Germany, he earned a presidential unit citation. He fought in the Blitzkrieg campaign. He liberated a concentration camp near Nordhausen, and at nearby Sangerhausen, he was the one who shot the lock off the camp gate.

He lost almost all of his hearing in those tanks. He lost many of his friends in that war.

But Hap came back and married Nurse Vivian. He used to say that fighting Hitler was easier than raising three Paulson boys. He didn’t talk much about the war, but he talked a lot about my algebra homework.

He passed away six years ago. I wish I could play one more game of cribbage or hug him one last time. What I can do is tell his story once a year and thank him for his service. To his country and to his family.

This Wednesday is Veterans Day. It started 101 years ago, originally known as Armistice Day, to recognize the sacrifice of servicemen who fought the “war to end all wars.” But we still have wars, and we still have men and women who do brave things every day because they believe in honor and truth. So today, be kind to an older person who seems a little confused or doesn’t hear that well. He or she may once have been a hero.

At some point, the Dee will fall off the Dad. But as he becomes just another guy, remember: Like my father, he has a story.

Hap came back and married Nurse Vivian. He used to say that fighting Hitler was easier than raising three Paulson boys.