His Voice

His voice.

That's what most people think of when they think of my dad.

It's full of the salt from years on the sea and too many cigarettes for too many years. He kind of growls instead of talks to people, even when he's saying something kind.

He likes to sing Chantilly Lace because of that line, "Oh Baby you knoooow that's what I like" and he does a pretty good job with it.

His voice is absolutely recognizable. He uses his voice to bark commands when standing at the helm of his ship and to tell me that I'm his everything when we're both missing mom.

It's a strong voice. One I thought was harsh and mean for several years-before I really knew him. It's a voice that tells dirty jokes and bad puns. It's the voice I learned sarcasm from and the voice I tried very hard to ignore when I was a teenager. His voice has intimidated boyfriends and his voice has told me things I didn't want to hear.

It's his voice I hear every morning when I call on my way to work. It's the voice that says "I love you" and "have a good day" and empathizes with my shitty feelings about...anything.

I hear his voice sometimes when I'm just trying to figure it all out. 

Dad's voice.

It's my voice sometimes.