Listen to your father, who gave you life…

Proverbs 23:22 NIV

HOME TO DAD     

Dad, I always think of you when I hear choirs sing.  This morning, I was flooded with childhood memories of gospel music and stirring choral harmonies that streamed from your radio on Sunday morning.  I'd giggle when you'd belt out a Pavarotti-style, "How great Thou art," with George Beverly Shea as you shaved.

I fondly remember Sundays feeling safe and comfortable from the backseat of our pool-sized Buick as you chauffeured us to church.  I admired your quiet strength and boundless energy.  You were a man on a mission: an usher, Sunday School teacher, minister to the sick, pall bearer for family funerals, small business owner, handyman, and my household hero.

I remember watching you on snowy days as you'd guide your blind, elderly friend down a flight of steps to drive him to church; and years later, you visiting him with his favorite horehound candy tucked in your pocket. 

Whether in work clothes wrestling the tiller in the garden, lying under the old, black Ford convertible, or dressed in a Robert Hall suit with a snappy tie, you were the most handsome fellow around.  To my friends, you were Big Dan; to me, you were the most important man in the world. 

Oh, if I could take back a few years that I ventured faraway absorbed in my own world and dreams, pirated by people and places; unaware that time was precious, and you would grow older as years flew by.  When I visit now, I enjoy driving you to church on Wednesday night and making your favorite foods.  As a young woman, your encouragement boosted my confidence to believe that I really could cook.

Over the years, your sound counsel has proven wise.  Too often, I trusted my own understanding rather than trusting yours-funny how you got smarter as I got older.   I've been touched by your tears as you shoveled graves for family pets, and your joy when you embraced laughing grandchildren.

So many times I've wished to see you walking along the bay, or stand beside you in church to hear that rich baritone never shared with the world.  After our accident, I fondly remember Thursday nights listening to Moody Radio with you in your den.  Your heartfelt stories of growing up in Appalachia were gems that now shape my stories as a writer.  I long for one more summer on South Bass Island for our family to sit around a campfire roasting marshmallows under a starry sky as lights wink across the lake.  You worked hard to give us those special days each summer, Dad.

Your heart for the least of these taught me many lessons.  Without question, you're the most generous man I've ever known.  You are your brother's keeper.  Sister's, too. 

Thank you for your priceless gifts.  You always cared for me, and I will always care for you as long as I have breath.  No matter where life takes me, my heart will always come home to you.  I love you, Dad.

Happy Father's Day,

Barb