The Romantic.com

TheRomantic.com Tip of the WeekJune 06, 2007

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~~~ In This Issue ~~~

* From the Editor – get your tissues out
* Its the Little Things – book it
* Contest – search and find
* Tip of the Week – coolest dad
* Romantic Resources – get closer
* Who is Michael Webb?
* Removal/Change of Address Instructions

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~~~ From the Editor ~~~

This weeks tip is a bit on the long side but I will bet
it will make you cry or at least choke up.

Forward this issue to your friends. And pass the tissues.

Have a caring week. — Michael

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~~~ It’s the Little Things ~~~

Checking out a book by your sweethearts favorite author from the
library.

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~~~ Sponsor ~~~

Over 200 frisky foreplay ideas for you!

http://theromantic.com/frisky.htm

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~~~ Contest ~~~

Thanks to all who entered last weeks contest. The answer was:
Andrea Boccelli

From all the correct entries I randomly chose Sharlea Sparrow from
Maidstone, Kent – United Kingdom to win a trip through the prize vault.

This week’s contest: I am currently running a special on my 1000
Questions for Couples. What is the sale price? Go to my website to
search for the answer.

Email your answer to me at tipofweek@aol.com
and put “price” in the subject line. In the text of the email give
me your answer along with your name and city where you live.

From all the correct answers I will pick one person to win a trip to
the prize vault.

TheRomantic.com’s ever growing PRIZE VAULT is filled with books,
several board games including Time for Two, An Enchanting Evening and
others, CDs, dance lessons and other fun stuff at

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~~~ Tip of the Week ~~~

THE COOLEST DAD IN THE UNIVERSE
By Angie K. Ward-Kucer
http://theromantic.com/

Editors note: While the following story isn’t exactly “romantic” I
think we can all see the common elements. I felt quite moved by it so
I’m making it my Tip of the Week. — Michael

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He was 50 years old when I was born, and a “Mr. Mom” long
before anyone had a name for it. I didn’t know why he was home
instead of Mom, but I was young and the only one of my friends
who had their dad around. I considered myself very lucky.

Dad did so many things for me during my grade-school years.
He convinced the school bus driver to pick me up my house instead
of the usual bus stop that was six blocks away. He always had my
lunch ready for me when I came home – usually a peanut butter and
jelly sandwich that was shaped for the season. My favorite was at
Christmas. The sandwiches would be sprinkled with green sugar and
cut in the shape of a tree.

As I got a little older and tried to gain my independence, I wanted to
move away from those “childish” signs of his love. But he wasn’t
going to give up. In high school and no longer able to go home for
lunch, I began taking my own. Dad would get up a little early and
make it for me. I never knew what to expect. The outside of the sack
might be covered with his rendering of a mountain scene (it became his
trademark) or a heart inscribed with “Dad-n-Angie K.K.” in its
center. Inside there would be a napkin with that same heart or an “I
love you.” Many times he would write a joke or a riddle, such as “Why
don’t they ever call it a momsicle instead of a popsicle?” He always
had some silly saying to make me smile and let me know that he loved
me.

I used to hide my lunch so no one would see the bag or read the
napkin, but that didn’t last long. One of my friends saw the napkin
one day, grabbed it, and passed it around the lunch room. My face
burned with embarrassment. To my astonishment, the next day all my
friends were waiting to see the napkin. From the way they acted, I
think they all wished they had someone who showed them that kind of
love. I was so proud to have him as my father. Throughout the rest
of my high school years, I received those napkins, and still have a
majority of them.

And still it didn’t end. When I left home for college (the last one
to leave), I thought the messages would stop. But my friends and I
were glad that his gestures continued.

I missed seeing my dad every day after school and so I called him a
lot. My phone bills got to be pretty high. It didn’t matter what we
said; I just wanted to hear his voice. We started a ritual during
that first year that stayed with us. After I said goodbye he always
said, “Angie?” “Yes, Dad?” I’d reply. “I love you.” “I love you,
too, Dad.”

I began getting letters almost every Friday. The front-desk staff
always knew who the letter were from – the return address said
“The Hunk.” Many times the envelopes were addressed in crayon,
and along with the enclosed letters were usually drawings of our
cat and dog, stick figures of him and Mom, and if I had been home
the weekend before, of me racing around town with friends and using
the house as a pit stop. He also had his mountain scene and the
heart-encased inscription, Dad-n-Angie K.K.

The mail was delivered every day right before lunch, so I’d have
his letters with me when I went to the cafeteria. I realized it was
useless to hide them because my roommate was a high school
friend who knew about his napkins. Soon it became a Friday
afternoon ritual. I would read the letters, and the drawing and
envelope would be passed around.

It was during this time that Dad became stricken with cancer. When
the letters didn’t come on Friday, I knew that he had been sick and
wasn’t able to write. He used to get up at 4:00a.m. so he could sit
in the quiet house and do his letters. If he missed his Friday
delivery, the letters would usually come a day or two later. But they
always came. My friends used to call him “Coolest Dad in the
Universe.” And one day they sent him a card bestowing that title,
signed by all of them. I believe he taught all of us about a father’s
love. I wouldn’t be surprised if my friends started sending napkins
to their children. He left an impression that would stay with them
and inspire them to give their own children their expression of their
love.

Throughout my four years of college, the letters and phone calls came
at regular intervals. But then the time came when I decided to come
home and be with him because he was growing sicker, and I knew that
our time together was limited. Those were the hardest days to go
through. To watch this man, who always acted so young, age past his
years. In the end he didn’t recognize who I was and would call me the
name of a relative he hadn’t seen in many years. Even though I knew
it was due to his illness, it still hurt that he couldn’t remember my
name.

I was alone with him in his hospital room a couple of days before he
died. We held hands and watched TV. As I was getting ready to leave,
he said, “Angie?” “Yes, Dad?” “I love you.” “I love you, too, Dad.”

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