From JuJu with Love

When I was growing up, my parents were the fun parents.

We had motorhomes and sailboats. Sports cars and a cottage in Harbor Springs. We went to Tigers games, Lions games, Red Wings games, Pistons games, and plenty of Michigan games.

But what I remember most isn’t the stuff.

It’s the way my dad turned ordinary moments into adventures.

At the state fair, he’d make my sisters, my mom, and me pose in front of ridiculous signs. He once wore a jockstrap on his head just to make us laugh. There were piggyback rides down Harbor Springs streets and countless goofy family photos.

And when Detroit winters felt endless, he’d load us into the car and take us to the indoor pool at the Michigan Inn. Looking back, it was only a few miles from home.

At the time?

It felt like we had been transported to a tropical resort.

My dad had a gift for making life fun.

As an adult, I’ve often wondered where that came from.

The truth is, my dad’s childhood wasn’t particularly happy. Maybe that’s exactly why he worked so hard to make ours special.

He gave us experiences. Adventures. Stories. Memories.

He taught us that fun wasn’t something you waited for. It was something you created.

And every time I convince my friends to pose for one more ridiculous vacation photo, I realize something:

I might have inherited more from my dad than I thought.

My dad loved adventures.

Growing up, that meant sailboats, motorhomes, sporting events, cottages, road trips, and family vacations. He had a gift for making life fun. If there was a way to turn an ordinary Saturday into an adventure, he found it.

But as Father’s Day approaches, I find myself thinking less about the big family trips and more about the times it was just the two of us.

There was the father-daughter camping trip in our motorhome. I was probably 8 or 10 years old. I don’t remember every detail. I remember sitting by a campfire listening to Fleetwood Mac. I remember meeting another father and daughter who were camping together. I remember feeling special because it was our adventure.

In my 30’s there was a father-daughter trip to Jackson Hole, Wyoming. Shopping. White water rafting. Hot air balloon rides.

And there was the summer I moved to Washington, D.C.

A few weeks later, my dad flew in for a day. We went to Georgetown and spent the afternoon shopping for my new life. Coats. Gloves. Work clothes. Bag after bag piled onto the counter.

For one day, I felt like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman.

There was also a trip when we met in Atlantic City, NJ, where he taught me how to gamble.

Looking back, I realize the gifts weren’t the clothes or the vacations.

The gift was his time.

The gift was knowing that no matter how busy life became, my dad was willing to get on a plane, jump in a motorhome, or head off on an adventure with me.

My parents always told us they wanted to give us both wings and roots.

Wings to explore the world, chase opportunities, and build lives of our own.

Roots to remind us where we came from, who we belonged to, and what mattered most.

Looking back, I realize Dad was teaching those lessons long before I understood them. Every adventure, every road trip, every goofy photo, every Saturday outing was a reminder that life was meant to be lived fully.

And somehow, all these years later, I’m still following the map my parents gave me.

Happy Father’s Day, Dad. Thanks for giving us wings and roots — and for teaching us that life isn’t something you wait to enjoy. It’s something you create.

From Juju with love 💙