I remember the first time I met Marco in 1997. I had just finished playing a show with Kristen the fiddler and Matt Harding at the Madson BYU recital hall. It was one of those slam packed -- Steve Young had to sit on the steps -- cheering throngs -- hit every note kind of shows. After the show, this all too eager dad with three daughters guy came back stage to say hello. (The truth is they all came back stage to meet Kristen. Everyone always came back stage to meet Kristen -- but that's a story for another day.)
Marco had this huge smile and three kids under his arms and invited the whole band over to the Davis house for a bodhran (celtic drum) workshop and some good eats. I still see him in my minds eye, oozing with enthusiasm for kids, music and a good party. I was 27 that summer and best described by my friend Tennessee John in a conversation with my dad. "Max, you can't stop the wind."
It took me a while to stop blowing around and finally park my trusty Suburu in a not so exotic cul-de-sac in north Orem. It wasn't New York or even the avenues of SLC. The man didn't have an accent or genetically blessed with sufficient pigment from some foreign gene pool. The house was Victorian -- sort of. The dishes didn't match and his living room was always piled in cardboard boxes full of Fiddlesticks CD being shipped or returned from some LDS bookstore. But, for some reason, all my girlfriends from those years will tell you that I was madly in love. Marco was my imaginary boyfriend. I was dazzled and mostly, I remember, because he was a fantastically terrific dad. Ours is a romantic story that I love to tell people.
Here's a couple of Marco loves, not in any particular order.
He loves traveling with his kids ...
He loves playing music with his kids ...
He loves seeing his kids happily married and being good husbands and wives ...
He loves being a grandpa ...
He really truly madly loves his goofy sons-in-law.
He loves traveling with his kids ...
He loves playing music with his kids ...
He loves seeing his kids happily married and being good husbands and wives ...
He loves being a grandpa ...
He really truly madly loves his goofy sons-in-law.
(He especially loves them with their guns, butter and Mr. Rodger's gang signs!)He loves making ethnic food even when he travels and drinking real Mexican coca-cola ...
He loves me ...
He loves telling "times" and when Xanny sleeps in his armpit (sorry, no picture).
and if you wondering what to get him for Father's Day, he loves a good Three Minute Hug.
happy father's day!
5 comments:
Sweet. Lucky you to have him and lucky him to have all of you!
Now we're all in love with him. Really.
So sweet, but who doesn't love guns, butter sculpture and gang signs? You'll have to give him a 3-minute hug from us.
ps I'm sorry to say we definitely won't be in Colorado this summer...but if all goes as planned, we'll be living there next summer and have plenty of time to play.
yay! happy father's day, dad!
so cute!
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