Thanks to my wife, my kids, our extended family and friends, and the many readers who chimed in with their best wishes as I hurtle inexorably towards death – my birthday.
Perhaps the best gift of all came from my co-birthday sharer and daughter, herself a newly minted sweet sixteen.
She presented her old dad with this shirt:
I sent a picture of it to a friend and explained where it came from. He asked, “Is that the dude who hijacked a plane and jumped out the back with all the money? How does she even know about him?” My response? “She is my daughter.” We’ve been watching DB Cooper documentaries since she was a baby.
She tells me I am required to wear it through security from now on.
Give thanks to the Lord, for He is good; His mercy endures forever!
On this day, November 30th, feast of the Apostle Andrew (who’s name means manly), he who was the first called by the Lord, in 1977, yours truly made his debut.
Three minutes later, my dear twin sister decided to make her debut.
Four years later she was called to her judgment.
And life for me was unusual for many year. My dearest Mom made sure that her twinless twin son always got two birthday gifts each year – one for him and one for her. Don’t worry, my sister left a hand printed birthmark on my wrist. I like to think it’s her mark, grabbing me by the wrist and trying her best to lead me to heaven.
Flash forward many years. On my thirtieth birthday: my baby sister delivered her son on my birthday. What a joy! He’s a prince.
Now flash forward two more years… My beautiful wife delivered our daughter on my birthday. To the minute, thirty-two years after my own entrance.
God is funny.
God is merciful.
God is wonderful.
God is magnificent.
I will never understand why He decided to bless me like He did.
He gave me a twin daughter after taking my twin sister home to pray for me.
Friends, here’s a beautiful “novena” (in quotes because it is prayed every day for 25 days from th feats of St. Andrew to Christmas Eve) that I pray every year at this time.
“Hail and blessed be the hour and moment in which the Son of God was born of the most pure Virgin Mary, at midnight, in Bethlehem, in the piercing cold. In that hour vouchsafe, I beseech Thee, O my God, to hear my prayer and grant my desires, [here mention your request] through the merits of Our Saviour Jesus Christ, and of His blessed Mother. Amen.”
This pray begins Sunday November 30th and should be prayed 15 times a day.
🎵 He had style, he had flair, he was there; that’s how he became the Daddy. 🎶
For what is now the fourth year in a row, I am writing about the man, the myth, the legend. I’m talking about my dad. Thanksgiving was HIS day and thanks to a funny little thing called genetics, it is now MY day.
As mentioned on this page before, my dad was a man of impeccable style. Always well dressed, he believed that it was a man’s duty to present himself well to the world – for modesty’s sake and because beauty is a constitutive quality of Almighty God in Who’s Image we are made.
For that reason, I am, as I write this, dressed in black pants, a crisp, white shirt, and a sport coat covered by a Buc-ee’s apron. It is Thanksgiving after all and I’m keeping up with his other traditions too. On this day, I am the chef and my turkeys will feed an army. Also it’s Texas so I’m legally required to mention Buc-ee’s.
A well dressed man, as dad would say, is a credit to himself, his parents, his wife, and God, Who gave him sense enough to know what to wear. Rarely seen outside of a dark suit with an appropriate tie, pipe in hand, Daddy made an impression everywhere he went but most especially at Mass.
He went every day of his life and blessedly handed on that gift to yours truly. “There is nothing more important that you can do in a day,” he would say, than to offer your sacrifice to God at Calvary.
This morning I arose at 6AM. I was thinking about him. He was a good resource manager. “God didn’t give me eight sons so I could shovel the snow off the sidewalks myself,” he remarked many times. Being that eighth son, I resented the comment but I knew he was right. And likewise, with Thanksgiving dinner, the only time all year that he cooked, he pressed me into service around the age of 13. I later found out that he did not involve my brothers in this tradition. Maybe he trusted me more. Maybe it’s because I went to Mass with him every day.
I got out of bed and remembered him and his phenomenally quick wit. The man was a genius. One quip in particular came to mind. Watching the results of the New York City Marathon on the news one night in the early 1980’s, th newscaster said, “And topping the wheelchair division is…” Dad, lowered the newspaper, let out a puff of Prince Albert, and said, “For heaven’s sake! Why not just have a Chevrolet division?!” Another time, Gary Hart was on TV talking about dropping out of the presidential race. Dad looked at the TV and said, “That man has more talent in his little finger than he does in the whole rest of his body.” One of my favorites, though, was when I mentioned some scientific fact I had read in a book. Keep in mind I may have been seven years-old. “Where’d you hear that?” he asked. Grabbing the book I said, “It says it’s from someone named Carl Sagan?” Dad shot back, “Figures. That man will never have hemorrhoids, son. He’s a perfect asshole.”
I can’t say I haven’t found myself delivering the same lines without even thinking over the years.
What a guy!
So here’s to him and here’s to the dads of the world who instill in their sons a sense of true manliness and who give us a reason to give thanks.
One more note and I may be semi-doxxing myself here but who cares… Below is a picture of the man as I remember him best. This was taken when he was in his early 70’s. He died at 80 – after the longest stretch he’d ever gone without daily Mass thanks to the final weeklong coma he was in. The lack of Mass may have been wha killed him in the end. I’d include a picture of myself but… You’ve heard of TV news reporters who have a face for radio? Yeah? Well, I’ve got a face for print.
And now, back to his other favorite thing about this day – Christmas music!
Living just outside of Dallas, I frequently find myself driving through Dealey Plaza, generally on my way home from confession at a local chapel downtown. Every single time as I drive over the two “X’s” painted in the middle of Elm Street in front of the old Boom Depository, I pray for his soul.
Stay confessed. You never know when your hour will come.
And the Catholic faith remains the same regardless of you know who.
Archbishop Vigano makes a good point here.
«If there is any lesson to draw on this anniversary of the Council of Nicaea, it is that unity without truth is counterfeit. The 318 Fathers did not sit in Council to discover the minimum content necessary to stay in communion with Arius. They defined the Faith and suffered the…
Folks, I got off all that social media nonsense a while ago. Sorry but I'm not on Twitbook, Facepalm, YouHu, WingWang or any of the others. Maybe an event will happen to make me change my mind like Peter and Paul coming down with flaming swords and commanding it be so. Until then, read the blog and if you feel a comment is in order or you feel like sharing a tip or suggestion for a topic, email me at harvey@harveymillican.com.
Harvey Millican's Blog: Musings of a Trad Dad 