WWII veteran, artist: My dad's Leap Day birthday was only part of what made him special

Dublin resident Patty Cohan is a retired graphic designer. The Cleveland native worked with McGraw Hill Education for 40 years, and now enjoys spending time with her two grandsons. 

Starting with his birth on Feb. 29, 1924 — Leap Day — my dad was unique.

If he were alive today, my dad, Pete Jedick, would be 100 years old. We sadly lost him in July of 2004, which means he only had 20 birthdays in his 80 years of life.

Leap Day birthdays are no common thing. According to the Associated Press, worldwide only about five million people — roughly 0.06% of the eight billion people on the planet — have a Leap Day birthday.

Being born on Leap Day is far from the only unique thing about my dad. There is so much more. What should be said about a man who was so much like the men of his day yet also so very different?

Do I write about how he went off to fight in World War II alongside his two brothers at the young age of 18? How he parachuted into France on D-Day with the 101st Airborne Division? How his service ended as a prisoner of war? How he chose to be kind, generous and tender in spite of that horrific ordeal?

Or do I write about my dad as a father? How he modeled parenting to me and my brothers without even realizing it? How just being in his presence made you feel loved?

What was not so unique

My childhood was not unique as many veterans began to build their lives after the war.

I grew up in the 60s on a great block of homes in a post war cookie cutter Cleveland neighborhood. Like in other households, my mom was a full-time homemaker.

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Because of her sacrifice, we able to be home. Our whole existence was on those streets. We only had to walk out the door to be with our friends. We played in our backyards, by the swamp, in the woods and the neighboring baseball field.

Why my dad was unique

I knew growing up that my dad was unique.

He worked as an artist in the advertising department for a local grocery store chain. Since our neighborhood was a stone's throw away from the Chevy and Ford plants, most of the dads in our neighborhood worked in the factories and were not eager to get home.

Not my dad.

He chose to walk through the door every day at 5 o’clock where my mom had dinner waiting. And after supper, my dad would say “let’s hop in the car” and off we went.

On summer evenings, we were either fishing or swimming at a nearby quarry. If we had a little more time, as the days got longer, we went to Lake Erie.

My dad was always putting a small bamboo fishing pole in the water for us, watching for a bite while we explored the piers. In the winter, as the days got shorter and colder, we would either take a quick ride down to the valley for a walk or to the local library to pick up some books.

I always had the ease to explore my surroundings.

Even though we had all the freedom and adventure you could want in a childhood, inside many homes it was a different story.

Many families suffered from issues of their own — some perhaps rooted in demons dads picked up from the war. That was not the case in our home.

My parents were caring enough to not make my siblings and I the root or the blame of their problems. They did not have perfect lives but instilled love in us — something that should not be unique.

All three of us went off to college, something that was nearly unheard of in our neighborhood. Like my dad, I went to art school.

How do I celebrate this unique person who I was lucky enough to call my dad on what would have been the celebration of his 100th year alive — his 25 Leap Day birthday.

Feeling fortunate that I inherited his artistic talents? Appreciating that he showed me the most important thing in life, spending time with his family?

I think the latter will do.

Dublin resident Patty Cohan is a retired graphic designer. The Cleveland native worked with McGraw Hill Education for 40 years, and now enjoys spending time with her two grandsons. 

This article originally appeared on The Columbus Dispatch: Leap Year birthday is one reason my dad was unique, not the only one