Late Father's Day Refections

 As a father has compassion on his children, so the Lord has compassion on those who fear him Psalm 103:13 (New International Version)

   Mother’s Day always seems like a big deal – everyone goes to see their mom and takes her flowers and then out to eat. Fathers sometimes seem to get the raw end of the deal on Father’s Day. No one goes out to eat; it’s summer, so they grill out instead and Dad might be doing most of the work.

It also seems that, at least in the past generations, we shower more affection on our mothers. They always get a hug. Dear ol’ dad? Maybe a handshake or a nod of the head.

I never considered myself a hugger. As kids, it wasn’t something we did as our parents didn’t initiate it. As we got older, though, Mom would hug us hello or good-bye. Dad? The nod of the head. I only remember hugging Dad twice in my lifetime.

The first time, I had been living in Colorado and flew home in February or March for a long weekend because he had been in the hospital with chest pain. I was worried about him and Mom too, how they were both coping. I called the airline (because there was no internet then), booked a flight, asked my boss if she could take me to the airport as well as pick me up, and called my sister Pat to pick me up at the airport. I think she spilled it to Mom that I was coming home, but Dad didn’t have a clue. I remember walking in the kitchen door and him meeting me with a genuine smile on his face. I threw my arms around his neck and he returned the hug.  

The second time, Mom and Dad were driving out with the fifth wheel to see me in Colorado. They called from Sterling one evening to say they wouldn’t be able to make it all the way to Castle Rock that night, but would see me in the morning. When my boyfriend at the time got off work sometime after nine that night, I asked if we could jump in his car and drive out to meet them. It was well after midnight when we pulled into their campground, and everyone for miles around was fast asleep. We hunkered down in Dan’s car and slept as best we could until daylight. I woke with the sun and spied Dad out walking the dog. I ran over to him and threw myself into his arms. Again, he was so surprised to see me. (I blogged about that adventure once before.)

I know that there is a wide range of relationships we have with our fathers. I had been blessed with a dad who I could always count on.

One last memory. When I broke my leg in eighth grade, it was Dad who picked me up and took me to the hospital, who held me down when the doctor set my leg without any drugs. I remember the doctor saying, “Hold her down, Paul, this is going to hurt.”

Thanks, Dad. You’ve been gone twenty-seven years, but I still miss you and love you. 

My most prized possession - the keychain my dad gave me when I moved to Colorado.