Dad:
My dad is one in a million. He instilled in me a great love for James Taylor...for which I am eternally grateful. He was the dad that would pull his pants up as high as he could and walk around the house, just to embarrass us. He would play nonsense on his harmonica, and somehow we were convinced he really knew how to play. I think he might love Ernest P. Worrell as much as he loves nachos with jalepenos. And, speaking of food, he is the dad who leans back at the end of every meal and says, “OH, I ate WAY too much,” and then proceeds to make himself a plate of dessert, and torment my mother later that night with complaining. I think of my dad every time I hear the Enya song that we call “The Happy Song” because he would make various happy faces to the rhythm of it, and I could never stop laughing...I’m laughing right now thinking about those goofy faces.
Dad has always been a good listener, which is good because I’ve always been a talker. I can remember several times just sitting on the porch swing, and I would talk and talk about absolutely nothing, and he would just sit there with me. There are still times we’ll be on the phone and I’ll realize that I’ve been going on and on...he may eventually tune me out, but it’s still nice to know that he’s on the other end. I can remember being a little girl and waking up early one morning and coming downstairs before my dad had to go to work at IPL, and seeing him kneeling at a chair starting his day in prayer. That is a memory I will never forget.
Several years back Dad had a minor heart scare...thankfully it turned out to be nothing major, but that was the moment I truly came to the realization that he wouldn’t be here forever. I sat in the waiting room during the surgery, and I just couldn’t bring myself to leave until it was all over and we knew everything was OK. Life without Dad...I can’t think about it.
Yeah...Dad is one in a million. He is also one in the 50% of men who remain married to their wives. We’ve all heard the statistic--so much so that I’m afraid we’ve grown numb to its culturally, spiritually, & emotionally destructive effects--50% of marriages end in divorce. I am blessed that my parents were not a part of that 50%. In an age where fathers are leaving their families at such alarming rates, I was lucky that my father not only stayed, but lived up to the responsibility. Statistically, girls who grow up without their fathers are more likely to end up pregnant before marriage, boys are more likely to get involved in drugs & criminal activity...and of course, the reality is that children from broken homes are more likely to get divorced as adults themselves (that is, if they can ever get themselves emotionally past the fear of marriage). When I think about the fact that I had a 50/50 chance of ending up in those statistics as a result of my father’s behavior, I thank God that my father stayed. Of all the things I could praise my father for--and there are many--this one takes the cake. This is the one that made all the difference. This is the one that unfortunately, only 50% of children will get to say about their dad’s today. I’m thankful that I get to say it. Thank you for staying Dad!
Pappy:
My Pappy was pretty great. He taught me so much. Just this evening I made gravy for our pork roast (because my father-in-law is in town and he loves gravy). He went on and on about it and asked, “Where’d you learn to make gravy, girl?” I proudly told him, “My Pappy!” I remember I was a newlywed, in the middle of making dinner, and I wanted to make gravy for Rob but I had no idea how to do it. I tried calling Mom and Grandma, but I couldn’t get ahold of either of them, so I called Pappy. He talked me through it over the phone, and my new husband was quite delighted to come home to gravy on his potatoes!
Pappy understood the value of cheap grandchild labor. He was a tough boss, too! If you didn’t work hard, you didn’t earn your bonus. And if you couldn’t finish your DQ treat, you were duly punished by being demoted back down to “kiddie cone” at your next trip (of course, no grandfather worth his spit would completely take away his grandchild’s right to ice cream, even in punishment). He demanded hard work, because he understood hard work, and he wanted us to understand it too. I have wonderful memories of spending hours working in Pappy’s garden in the summer time. It was, and still is, beautiful. He passed the green thumb onto me, and there is not a moment when I’m working in the garden that I don’t think of him. The very smell of the soil reminds me of him. I recently transplanted some flowers from his garden into my own, and when I walked into his mud room a flood of memories washed over me. His death was the first death in my life that was real to me--that I understood fully, and felt fully. I must admit, I cried as I planted those flowers in my garden, because I wanted so badly for him to see the work I had done. I wanted to talk to him about gardening-- connect with him over a shared passion. It was sad to know that it couldn’t happen. He would love my gardens, and if he could see all the hard work I put into them he would certainly give me a bonus, and buy me DQ, too! But, I like to think that maybe he’s gardening in Eden now...Paradise. And one thing is certain, he’s maintaining things nicely! So, “here’s to the losses that grew us up, killed our pride, and filled our cup...cheers to you,” Pappy!
‘Ol Norm:
‘Ol Norm is my father-in-law. He’s quite a character. I’ve only known him 10 years, but one thing is certain...He loves that boy of his, and he treats me like his own. He’s a pretty great man. He grew up, one of eight poor preacher’s kids. You should hear the miraculous stories of provision he saw in his life...and miracles he saw in other people’s lives. He went into the navy, spent time in Hawaii and Japan, and then returned to get a degree in teaching. He took a leave of absence to get his master's degree, and after returning a year later, only to find his job was no longer available, he worked as a welder to fund a third degree. He then had three degrees, but worked in a factory, because it was the only work available. He understood what it meant to care for his family at any cost, and to work hard...no matter what the work...and do it as unto the Lord. And, of course, all of his hard work paid off. He’s passionate about the word of God, and studies it diligently. He loves his grandchildren, and plays right along with them and all their stories. He loves when they tag along with him no matter what he’s doing and he’s so patient to teach them all about it. And, of course, he raised my husband to be a Godly man who respects me, and loves his children...That is what I am most grateful for!
Rob:
I couldn’t have picked a better man to have children with! It’s amazing the things you learn about your husband once he becomes a father...and it’s amazing how he can become someone so unexpected. The way I see Rob with our boys is nothing short of astounding. He is so patient with them, and affectionate. He’s an amazing storyteller, and surprisingly skilled at playing pretend. Every evening we are home I can hear them all in the basement playing some rough and tumble action hero game--Batman, Superman, Star Wars--and Rob is right there in the thick of things, running around fighting off Darth Vader with his light saber or spinning webs at Dr. Octopus. He reads to them from their Bible every night, and prays so lovingly over both of them. He works hard at his job because he wants to make a great life for his boys. And he loves me, just like Christ loves the church. I am so proud to know that my boys will be able to look at their dad as an example of what it means to be a husband and father. They can see him using his gifts for God, and see him hug their mother and treat her with love and respect. They’ll see him paying his tithe, and giving to missions. But, most of all, they see him every morning before he leaves and they see him come home every night. They won’t have to grow up wondering if Dad is going to come home, or where Dad is. Because, of all the things this world offers, nothing is more important to Rob than his family. He proves that everyday. Through all the sleepless nights, messy diapers, bumps and scrapes, broken bones, broken hearts, strike outs, fumbles, touchdowns, home runs, graduations, and anything else life has for our boys, Rob will be there. Because he didn’t just have kids...he became a father. I love you, Rob!
Happy Father’s Day!
