Day 2394: A little bit different

Yesterday, when I was being a little bit different than anybody else I know, I noticed this:

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and I knew that “a little bit different” was a little bit different from any other blog title I’d used before in the past six-and-a-half years.

When I looked at all my other photos from yesterday …

 

 

 

…they were all a little bit different, so I knew I would use that title for today’s blog post.

This morning, I realized that this post might be a little bit different from most published today by not mentioning Father’s Day up front. And then, when I looked at my photos again with a little bit different perspective, I realized they all related to my father. I guess I see them that way because I’m related to my father and we are both a little bit different.

My late father was humble and kind.

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He cared much more about other people than he did about money …

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… but he worked very, very hard to be a good provider for his family.

He had a beautiful singing voice and was very musical. He bought us a piano when my sister and I were young.

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My father paid for piano lessons for his little-bit-different daughters but never learned to play himself. That calendar photo of the dog playing piano (which is a little bit different)  arrived yesterday in the mail from my wonderful cousin, Lani. Lani, like the rest of us, is a little bit different and she also loved my father.

Lani, and everybody else who knew my father, would say that my father was incredibly funny, although they might tell that story in a little bit different ways. My dad  told me he wrote little-bit-different rhymes for his high school year book, including this memorable one (which is a little bit different from totally kind):

Jerry is a drummer rare.

If he didn’t play, we wouldn’t care.

Perhaps you can see his influence in this little-bit-different certificate I’ll be presenting later this week to an exiting board member of my group therapy professional organization:

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When I was very young, my father moved us to a little-bit-different home which was a block away from the ocean, on the North Shore of Boston. I’m now living on the little-bit-different South Shore of Boston.

 

 

 

I think my father would have noticed the irony in that little-bit-different last photo in that sea-side montage.

My father was a life-long Democrat and so am I, although we were a little bit different in our politics.

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That very different photo reminds me of my father in several little bit different ways.  He brought home all the different magazines from the pharmacy he owned but never  ridiculous rags like The Globe or the National Enquirer. Also, he would sometimes ask my different friends this little question, “Are your parents still together?”  Leave it to my father to throw in little-bit-different conversation starters when talking to my friends.

My father really enjoyed our little-bit-different cat, Tuffy, who my parents got me when I was recovering from major heart surgery at age 10.

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Harley, pictured there,  reminds me a lot of Tuffy, in looks and in temperament although, of course, they’re a little bit different. My dad and I used to play a little-bit-different game with Tuffy, where we would sit on the floor in the kitchen and roll back and forth little-bit-different balls made of Challah bread,  with Tuffy trying to catch them. Tuffy, who was a little bit different in her taste in treats, would catch the bread balls and eat them.

My father was a married to a clean freak …

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… who was a little bit different from most clean freaks by letting us sit on the floor and toss bread balls back and forth with our cat. My father had this little-bit-different joke he used to tell about my mother:

I got up in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom, and when I got back Weezie had made the bed.

Leave it my father to tell a joke that was a little-bit-different from the truth, even though he was impeccable with his word.

I took driver’s education in high school, but my memories of learning to drive are all of my father.

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My father was one of Boston’s safest drivers (which believe me, is not saying much) and because of him, I am a safe driver, too.

After my father retired, he and my mother travelled abroad …

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… but I don’t think they made it to Barcelona. My traveling has been a little bit different but I haven’t been to Barcelona, although I did travel to Spain with my beloved friend Jeanette.  I have memories of Jeanette and my father getting along really well, although they were a little bit different  from each other (but who isn’t?). Maybe someday I’ll make it to Barcelona, which I understand is a little bit different from the rest of Spain.

My father grew up in an Orthodox Jewish household and so did I, although our upbringings were a little bit different.  Whenever we ate out, we only had fish or meatless dishes.

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My father was sensitive to other people’s feelings and was pretty sensitive himself.  We hurt each other a few times in our lives, but we always forgave each other, keeping the connection alive as long as he was.

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I only heard my father swear once, and that was when he was very angry about a young man who had hurt me when I was in my early 20’s.

My father took care of much of what grew on our property when I was growing up, as my little-bit-different boyfriend Michael does today.

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My father had a wonderful smile, which he did not keep to himself.

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Actually, neither of those animals really evoke my father, but this one does:

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I think my father and I were a little bit nuts, in a little bit different ways, but who isn’t?

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Also, I have vivid memories of my father on Saturdays eating pistachio nuts, which he was nuuuuuuuttssss about.

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My father had a wonderful zest for life, which I believe I’ve inherited.  Yay!

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I’ve tried to color in some details about my father in this little-bit-different post, which is not by the numbers and which attempts to capture the magic of  my Dad.  I hope it’s no mystery why I miss my father, every little-bit-different day.

Here‘s a song my father sang to my mother on a special anniversary (and he sounded a little bit different from Nat King Cole and Frank Sinatra):

I look forward to all your little-bit-different comments.

A little-bit-different thanks to all who helped me create today’s blog post and — of course! — to YOU!

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Categories: love, personal growth, photojournalism | Tags: , , , , , , , , , | 22 Comments

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22 thoughts on “Day 2394: A little bit different

  1. Here’s to your Dad, Ann, who did one heck of a job of making you the wonderfully different person you are.

  2. I enjoyed reading your beautiful memories about your father and your relationship with him. He sounds like someone I would have enjoyed as a friend. I think he gave you Tuffy after you had heart surgery, if I am not mistaken. Which means he was brilliant as well as sensitive, loving, and perceptive. I felt like cheering when I learned that the only time he had ever sworn with when a guy hurt you. Of course, not because a guy hurt you! He was lucky to have you as a daughter, as lucky as you were to have him as your dad. Happy Father’s Day! I sure hope this post, posts!

    • I know your experience trying to post comments has been a little bit different the last few days, Maureen, because those comments accidentally got put into the spam file. Your persistence and loyalty to this blog is a little bit different and it means the world to me! ❤

  3. Even though I never met your father the memories of him you share always make it clear what a wonderful person he was. I especially enjoy that he brought home issues of Mad Magazine for you.
    I’ve seen a few articles lately about “Dad jokes”, which is a term some people use negatively, but I think Dad jokes and the Dads like yours who tell them are wonderful–but I’m a little bit different.

  4. So glad that the little bit of differences gelled so well to make the father/daughter mix such a successful one.

  5. I am a little bit different or a little bit strange, what can I say, this is me

  6. Maureen

    I left a comment this morning, a long one. And it hasn’t shown up! Rats, rats, rats, rats, ratfink! I am trying this from my computer. My phone seems to have some kind of communication issue with WordPress, although it certainly doesn’t let on — I even copied it before I sent it, then went it again and got a notice that I’d sent a duplicate comment. You’d think that if I sent a duplicate comment, at least one of them would show up here!

    I can’t recreate my comment, but I want to let you know that I was very moved by your description of your father, who sounds like a lovely, lovely man, and I am sure he would be so proud of you if he could see you now, just as he was proud of you from the day you were born until the day he died.

    Also, I enjoyed your photos today in particular. Harley, of course. And the sensitive marinara sauce!

    One of my kids will likely become a father soon, as his wife is pregnant and their due date was yesterday! So, we have a special feeling about father’s day this year (and I do miss my dad, too).

  7. A fine tribute.

  8. Those two cats are so similar and different in many ways.

  9. Precious memories, Ann. You had a fine and loving father, and he certainly left a lot of himself in you! You giftedness with lyrics and music certainly is one fine way you demonstrate that closeness. I loved learning more about him. I truly did!

  10. I love ‘reading’ your posts – they are a little bit different from the rest 😉

  11. Pingback: Day 2480: Different | The Year(s) of Living Non-Judgmentally

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