My dad

Photo by Edward Howell on Unsplash

It is Father’s Day. I have just awakened and am sitting in my bed, listening to Vivaldi Four Seasons, thinking of my dad. When we were growing up, we would almost always get my dad cashews for his birthday, Christmas, or Father’s Day. It was our go-to gift because we knew that Dad liked them, but one year, he asked for a CD of Vivaldi’s Four Seasons (or was it a tape? I can’t remember. I think we had a CD player by then), and I got it for him. I was so proud of that gift because it was something that wasn’t cashews that I knew he would love, so today, I decided to listen to it while I tell you about the wonderful man that is my father.

Wonderful man? you might ask. Weren’t you just talking about how hard you had it growing up?

Yes, and? The two are not mutually exclusive. My dad was very young when he married and became a father. He was 20 years old on his wedding day, and my understanding is that his parents had to sign for him to be allowed to marry, since he wasn’t yet 21, the age men were legally allowed to wed without permission from their parents. Mom and Dad welcomed my sister into the world 17 months later. My mom was a week shy of her 20th birthday, and my father was 22. They were so young, barely adults, and they did the best they knew how to do. Like all of us who have raised little humans, they discovered that their babies didn’t come from the womb with a manual on how to raise them. They made mistakes, some big and some small. I do have to heal from the effects of those mistakes, but that doesn’t mean that they were monsters.

I am very fortunate because while my father didn’t always make the best parenting decisions, he has profusely apologized for his mistakes, and he has done everything he can to become a better man. I love my father from the bottom of my heart. Despite my bumpy childhood, I would list my father in my top 10 favorite people. I admire him in so many ways. He is a devoted follower of Christ, and while he and I don’t agree on spiritual things, I admire his integrity. He is a red letter Christian, and what I mean by that is that he does his best to follow what the Bible actually says and not what the political leanings of the modern church tell him to do. He is not wealthy by any means, but he would be the first person to offer the coat off of his back, literally, to someone who was cold. He truly takes to heart Jesus’ commandment to “Love the Lord your God with all your heart, mind, soul and strength, and love your neighbor as yourself.” Even though I am not a believer, this is one of my favorite characteristics of my father.

Every time I am around my parents, I am struck by how well my father loves my mother. He cares for her deeply, and her needs almost always come first. He will go out of his way to make sure that she is as comfortable as she can be, and I have watch him agonize over how to make her happy. I remember an instance where he wanted to buy her a gluten-free pie that she loves, just because (my mom’s love language is receiving gifts), but he knew that she was trying to lose weight, and he didn’t know what honored her more, to give her a pie that she would love eating or to support her weight loss efforts. I think he ended up getting her the pie, figuring she could cut it into pieces and put them in the freezer to be consumed over time.

Another heartwarming trait about my father is his genuine love for his kids. Nearly every time my dad is around my husband, he will thank him for taking such good care of me. Mind you, we have been married for 26 years. Jason has been taking care of me for a long time, but my dad still thanks him for it on a regular basis. My dad will also go out of his way to make my life as easy as possible. He will willingly drive 3.5 hours each way to pick me up and bring me to my doctors’ appointments. He always gives me his recliner when I’m staying at their house because it’s more comfortable than the couch, and he lets me sleep in his bed while he sleeps on the futon so that I get the best sleep possible.

Dad also gave me his love and knack for gardening, which he got from his dad. I love being able to call my dad up and ask him a question. He’s the one who recommended Blue Lake Bush Beans, and after enduring a year of chewy, stringy green beans, that recommendation was priceless! I often think of him when I’m out in my garden, one of my happiest places. When we were kids, Dad converted our back yard into a massive terraced garden, and he gave those of us who wanted one a garden bed of our own to do with what we wished. I remember planting tomatoes at the age of 10 and ecstatically picking them and eating them straight off the bush, warm from the sun. My mouth is watering at the memory of the tiny seeds dancing around in the sweetly acidic juices on my tongue. I think that might have been the spark that ignited the love of gardening that burns in me today.

My dad is human. He made mistakes, but my goodness, do I love him still! I wouldn’t trade him for the world.

Happy Father’s Day, everyone.

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