When I think of the books I’ve written, very seldom do I have a father of a main character appear in the story, which is, some would say, typical of romance, since most romance heroines are orphans, either symbolically or literally. (Gosh that was along sentence.) In THE WISH LIST, Kristin’s parents were older and are both dead by the time the story starts. In AS YOU WISH, Reggie’s father is still around, but he was always detached, not unloving, just detached. In WISHFUL THINKING, though, Stormy hits the jackpot. She has two dads and a biological mother who all care for her, but the dads especially. In TEMPTATION’S WARRIOR (under the name Gabi Anderson) Elf is an orphan. It’s an interesting aspect of writing my novels–where are the main characters’ parents. The heroes don’t often have them either. Or have just one. Or are simply not mentioned.
My own father died over twenty years ago, but I feel his influence everyday. And especially since we have a special day in June (I’m a few days early–sue me) to celebrate dads, I’ve been thinking about mine. He was a big guy–six feet tall–and when we won on Family Feud (another story), he hugged Richard Dawson so hard that Mr. Dawson made jokes about it the next day. He had a heavy Hungarian accent–if an American called him at home, his conversation mostly consisted of saying, “Ja” (like the German yes), yet he read the paper daily without difficulty. When he first met my future husband, he hugged him. Picture a six foot three American guy being embraced by this bear of a man. The look of shock on the then-boyfriend’s face is a memory etched with grins in my mind. And since my dad had only daughters, at the end of that visit, he took my husband aside and said, “Let’s go to the garage, and let me give you some tools.” And he did. (We still have some of them.)
My father didn’t cook. As far as I remember he could make scrambled eggs and that’s about it. As far as I remember he didn’t even grill. When we’d set up our barbeque, he’d load the briquets, start the fire, but my mom grilled (My memory could be wrong here, but I just don’t remember him cooking).
He was smart, but not obnoxiously so (that I reserve for myself and my husband-hahaha), but he was the wisest man I ever knew. I had an unusual last name, and when I married, I decided to take my husband’s name. I asked my father if he minded that there would be no more Stefels, and he said, “Names don’t matter. People do.”
So I hope you’ll indulge me as I revisit memories of my father. And if not, well, you’re not writing this blog are you, but you can certainly complain in the comments. 🙂
Books I’m reading now:
Soul of the Highlander by Melissa Mayhue
The Mischief of the Mistletoe by Lauren Willig
From the Corner of his Eye by Dean Koontz