Today is my Dad's birthday. And it's a big one. I probably shouldn't say which big one since my Mom will never forgive me. But my Dad wouldn't care. In fact, I bet he is pretty proud to hit the big 75. Whoops. Sorry Mom.
My parents both retired about a year and a half ago. I wrote a tribute to each of them but never posted it. So today, in honor of my Dad's big birthday and recent retirement here is the tribute to my Pops.
For my Dad:
I have lots of memories of my Father at work. One of my favorite things to do was to go on hospital rounds with him on Sunday mornings after church. I realize now that this was a tactic for my Mom to get me out of the house so that she could get some work done, but I really enjoyed myself and often begged to go. Sometimes I would get to meet my Dad’s patients. And they would go on and on about what a wonderful doctor my Dad is and how lucky they were to have him. The trip usually ended with getting a bite to eat in the doctor’s lounge. I felt very special walking past the regular folks in the cafeteria to our “VIP” dining area. I also remember spending lots of time at my Dad’s office. My first memories are at the 4141 Geary office with Carlos and Agnes and, of course, Dr. Allison. I used to walk around the offices and check out all the doo-dads from the drug companies and Carlos would slip me some candy. I quickly learned to stay out of the lab. Although Carlos was a fun guy, there was nothing fun about the contents of that lab fridge.
During my first two years of law school we car pooled nearly every day, except for the months my Dad was out for his heart surgery. By then he had “incorporated” his practice and the office had moved to Shrader Street. Waiting for him in his office most nights, I learned a lot about my Dad. First, he is incredibly organized and disorganized at the same time. His desk is piled with years of paper work, magazines, charts and unopened gifts from patients. But somehow he is on top of it all. He is incredibly well respected by his staff, colleagues and patients. “Your father is a good man,” they would say. “He is such a good and caring doctor.” He is a leader. I had no idea how many presidential and chief posts he held until his heart surgery required him to step back. And he is fiercely proud of his family. Our family portrait hangs in the hallway outside of his office. I can’t tell you how many times I witnessed him walk his patients from their exam room over to that picture to show off his family. And if all these things didn’t convince me that my Dad is special then the fact that countless times growing up, and still today, when strangers hear my name they ask me if I am related to Dr. Frietzsche. Each time I proudly answer, “Yes, I am his daughter.”
I have lots of memories of my Father at work. One of my favorite things to do was to go on hospital rounds with him on Sunday mornings after church. I realize now that this was a tactic for my Mom to get me out of the house so that she could get some work done, but I really enjoyed myself and often begged to go. Sometimes I would get to meet my Dad’s patients. And they would go on and on about what a wonderful doctor my Dad is and how lucky they were to have him. The trip usually ended with getting a bite to eat in the doctor’s lounge. I felt very special walking past the regular folks in the cafeteria to our “VIP” dining area. I also remember spending lots of time at my Dad’s office. My first memories are at the 4141 Geary office with Carlos and Agnes and, of course, Dr. Allison. I used to walk around the offices and check out all the doo-dads from the drug companies and Carlos would slip me some candy. I quickly learned to stay out of the lab. Although Carlos was a fun guy, there was nothing fun about the contents of that lab fridge.
During my first two years of law school we car pooled nearly every day, except for the months my Dad was out for his heart surgery. By then he had “incorporated” his practice and the office had moved to Shrader Street. Waiting for him in his office most nights, I learned a lot about my Dad. First, he is incredibly organized and disorganized at the same time. His desk is piled with years of paper work, magazines, charts and unopened gifts from patients. But somehow he is on top of it all. He is incredibly well respected by his staff, colleagues and patients. “Your father is a good man,” they would say. “He is such a good and caring doctor.” He is a leader. I had no idea how many presidential and chief posts he held until his heart surgery required him to step back. And he is fiercely proud of his family. Our family portrait hangs in the hallway outside of his office. I can’t tell you how many times I witnessed him walk his patients from their exam room over to that picture to show off his family. And if all these things didn’t convince me that my Dad is special then the fact that countless times growing up, and still today, when strangers hear my name they ask me if I am related to Dr. Frietzsche. Each time I proudly answer, “Yes, I am his daughter.”
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