A Love Letter to My Father

Dear Dad,

On this first Father’s Day without you, the words that come to mind when I think of you are kind, compassionate, supportive, faithful, and my champion and cheerleader. I can feel you in the way I live my life, especially in your example of how you treated the least among us. How you loved and cared for Mom, especially when her health was failing, was an example of your fidelity to the end. You were always by her side and never resented a minute of it. After years of hard work, one blessing came from it; you could sit with her on the loveseat, enjoying musicals and “ice cream on a stick.”

I have so many memories that I could write for days, and it would still be incomplete. One of my early memories was Sunday nights when you would be heading back to Syracuse while we spent the week at Cabin 8 at Cayuga Lake with Aunt Amelia and our cousins. I would feel heartbroken that you were leaving to go to work, even though you would always return on Friday. I definitely got my worrier trait from you. In my magical thinking, I thought I could keep you safe if you were close. I remember taking trips on the weekend and having to sneak a few of us kids into the motel because no one wanted seven people in one hotel room. There were week-long trips, also, to Piseco Lake in the Adirondacks, Virginia, Florida, and North Carolina. Of course, the mother of all trips was our five-week trip to California with five teenagers in a van without air conditioning! How brave (or foolish?) were Mom and you to go on such an adventure. So many great stories and laughs would come from that trip, especially in hindsight. San Francisco was the most special place, the first big city I’d ever visited. I wondered how you would ever find our van again because I didn’t know that adults actually paid attention to where they park!

At home, you were always the last to bed once we were teenagers, unable to sleep until the final person was safely home. I remember going out and being in an accident, not my fault, on the way to a nightclub. After sitting in a police car crying, I continued to the club with my friend to dance before coming home to tell you about it. You took it pretty well, considering the front of the Matador was pretty smashed up. You never did get the dent taken out. I also loved being a student at Syracuse University, where you worked and were able to put all five of us through college. The best part was when people would ask me, “Are you Jim Mastin’s daughter? Your dad is a wonderful guy!” I always felt so proud to call you my dad. Your philosophy was to treat everyone the same, from maintenance to the Chancellor, something I try to do in my life.

Although you live in my heart and memories, I miss your physical presence. The recording of Mom and you from Florida from my visit in 2019 is not the same as having you call me daily. You always loved being the first with the news or telling me stories. You’d often start with, “I’ve probably told you this before…” but I would always listen because I knew your presence was a gift I would only have for a limited time. I love you always. Jen