I haven’t posted on this blog for the past two years, and so it felt only fitting that my first post in a while would be about my Dad. I was looking through my comments page, and a whole fresh wave of grief washed over me as I read all his messages. He commented more than anyone else. He was the sweetest.

Here is one comment that is just the essence of him, from “Two Days in The Calanques”

Piper
What a great two day adventure. Wish I was there to join you. As you know boating, hiking and jumping off cliffs into the crystal clear aqua sea is my cup of tea. I would have shown off doing one of my signature back flips.
Love hearing about your adventures.
DAD

In his various comments he said he was proud of me, that he wished he were there with me, that I wrote beautifully. I’m very lucky to have had a dad like him.

It’s his birthday in a few days, a fact that is hard to wrap my head around. In a few weeks, he was supposed to go on a 30th wedding anniversary trip with my Mom, visiting all the national parks he’d dreamed about. Words can’t express my loss, not even close, but they can still provide me with some sort of outlet. So I wanted to post the speech I wrote for him, which I read at his celebration of life: Perry’s Party. (He would have had a blast if he were there. 100 of his family and friends, at his favorite local brewery— he is so beloved!)

Anyway, I wrote this speech late one night. I hadn’t even intended it to be a speech. The words just flowed out of me, straight from the heart. It was my way of trying to make him come alive again, at least for the duration of a few pages. Stream of consciousness, hardly edited, here it is:

Dad

Last year I remember diving into the icy Pacific on an early spring day and proudly declaring “My Dad didn’t raise no wuss.”

And it’s true. I spent many summers of my life white-knuckling an inner tube as my Dad drove the boat like a speed demon, performing whiplash-inducing U-turns to “encourage” Paige and me to fall off. How could you be a wuss with a Dad like that? He taught us not to be afraid to push our comfort zones— and so we weren’t, because we knew we would always be safe as long as we were with him.

My dad wrote me a wonderful birthday card when I turned 25. In it he said that I will always be his little princess, of course, but also that he was proud of me for “seizing each and every day as an opportunity for pursuing my dreams.” Those were his exact words. I wish that in response I would have told him that he’s a big part of why I’ve gone on adventures. His mantra, something I heard every time I was with him, was “seize the day.”

He always wanted to make the most of the day, whether that was “improving the lake view” through strategic branch removal or drinking a Hazy IPA with friends or going on a boat ride with his family, or all of the above. And sure, not every day was a marvel, but he brought to each day an unerring enthusiasm for life, a conviction that he lived in the best place ever, an adoration for his wife and kids, a positive attitude, an incredible work ethic and bright spirit. He truly did live his mantra of Carpe Diem.

Because of both him and mom, I was blessed with a magical childhood. Not many people are as lucky as I have been.

My dad called me Cubs and Cubbers and Pipes and Sweetie and Piperrific. He French braided my hair when I was little— surely the only dad in my elementary school who could claim such a thing. He taught me how to throw a ball, and knee-board, and ride a bike, and drive, and chop with a chef’s knife. He taught me how to be goofy— because you all know he was the goofiest. When I get super excited about food, or do a silly dance, or have whimsical ideas about seeing the sunset, or point out a hawk soaring though sky, or howl at the moon— that’s all Dad. He taught me to be unabashed about my excitement for things, for life.

I have countless treasured memories, like how he would always make sand dollar pancakes with homemade syrup on lazy Sundays. Like how for 14 years he would be in his pajamas and turn to Whiskey on a weekend and say “let’s go get the paper!” and those two would meandern down the driveway to fetch the newspaper. Like how on those same weekend mornings the five of us would sit in the sunrooms of our various houses reading and sipping coffee— well, Whiskey just slept, but you get the picture. 🙂

He loved making bonfires and tromping through the woods and fixing things and using power tools, because he was a boy at heart. He loved buggy rides and firing up the grill. He loved Ray Bans — “very nice!”— and all glasses that made him look ruggedly handsome. He loved Laurie and me and Paige and his mom Marge so much.

Us Andersons, we’re all water people. Even Whiskey was a water dog! And Dad loved the water the most of all of us. His alter ego was a pirate, after all! In younger days he loved slapping on a pair of water skis and pulling tricks in the wake, Paige and I cheering from the boat as he showed off with spins and twists. He loved walking with a cigar on the beach, doing backflips off the boat, yelling “Bonzai!” as he jumped off the deck, coozie and noodles in hand, ready for bobbin. He even joked about writing a book: 101 ways to noodle.

Whether it was steering the boat over choppy waves as a thunderstorm rolled in, or gliding over water like glass on an early morning kayak ride, or weaving The Whiskey Runner in and out of dusky golden coves with a drink in hand and classic rock on the radio, he was a water lover. And though he died much too early, there is something poetic about the fact that he was doing what he loved, having an adventure in the water. It’s how he would have wanted to go, if he were given the choice.

I just wanted to end by saying one last thing. They say girls tend to marry their fathers, and I hope that’s true because I would be lucky to have a man like Perry Anderson in my life. Because Perry was someone with a truly good heart. He may not have been the most patient, and he may not have had a filter, but he was the sweetest man I’ve ever known. He was kind and thoughtful and fun and caring and goofy. He was a social butterfly and a friend to everyone. He was the best dad ever, and he could fix anything.