With Father’s Day on the horizon, I think of my dad and how much I miss him. When I wrote this article for the Spokesman Review 20 years ago (really?), I realized my time with Dad had limits. I would have 12 more Father’s Day celebrations before Dad passed away. Not nearly enough time…but today it’s important to honor him and feel grateful for being blessed with a wonderful father.
When I think of my dad, I think of his influence. Moms have a more nurturing, protective nature, and certainly impact their children’s lives. But dads–well, it’s different with dads. They give us wings. They give us the courage to stretch them and take those first wobbly solo flights of independence before soaring off on our own.
It reminds me of my first almost-solo 2-wheeler bike ride.
Dad & me
“No training wheels,” Dad said. He was convinced I could ride without them.
“But Dad,” I protested. “I can’t reach the pedals.”
He tightened the blocks around the pedals. “There. Now you can do it.”
Of course, he was right beside me, running along with his hand balancing the back of the seat. It was only when I realized he had let go that I panicked and crashed.
“You did great!” Dad beamed. I wasn’t so sure, I thought, rubbing my skinned knees.
Dad insisted I get back on the bike and try again. He was always there, but let go more frequently. He was right. I could do it myself.
There was a tender side to Dad, too.
“Daddy, there’s a spider in my bedroom. I can’t go in unless you kill it,”
Dad patiently acquiesced while giving me a nature lesson about the usefulness of spiders. I started viewing insects as if they were a relative of E.B. White’s Charlotte.
When Mom was in the hospital giving birth to a sibling, Dad took over at home. He even pin-curled my hair so I’d look the same as when Mom was there.
Then at 13, I experienced the end of the world as I knew it. Dad announced we were moving from our familiar Midwest town to a hamlet in Pennsylvania. I didn’t care that George Washington had lived there–or that he had stood fearlessly in the prow of his boat crossing the Delaware River, soundly defeating the Hessians on the other side. It sounded as boring as my 8th grade history class.
“Dad, please don’t make us do this,” I begged.
But Dad who was undaunted by my resistance, pointed out this would be a great experience. I didn’t believe him. We boarded our plane on a cold January day, bound for far away Pennsylvania. I felt like most of me stayed on the ground. Adjusting to a foreign place felt awful. I was the new kid with the funny accent from the state famous for potatoes.
“Not Idaho, ” I protested. “It’s Iowa–where corn grows.” My classmates just laughed.
I wanted to cry. It took a long time for my heart to accept a new home. In spite of my reluctance, some of my fondest memories were made in the Keystone State–including meeting my future husband! Dad was right. Change is good. It stretches you and helps you grow.
Dad celebrated my 18th birthday with me, a few weeks after I left home to go to college. He knew I was homesick and felt wobbly on my own. His presence assured me all was well.
Maybe that’s why the world needs dads. We need their encouragement, their steady nudges to get us out of our comfort zones, their belief in us when we hardly have any confidence of our own.
And so it has been throughout my life. Dad faithfully cheered me on. About the time I approached my half-century birthday, I became more aware that Dad wouldn’t always be here. I suddenly felt like I was 8-years old on my first solo bike ride, wobbly and panicked when I realized no one was holding onto the bike seat.
As Dad slipped away with dementia through the next several years, it was hard to imagine continuing on without him. Yet Dad had trained me well. He had given me the ability to venture into unknown arenas and know I’d be OK.
Not all have been fortunate to have a dad like mine, but many of us have that unmistakable imprint of a father’s love in our lives. If your father is still living, you have the chance to thank him.
