A Peck of Gold

To Dad

June, and Father's Day edges it's way into her thoughts.

Her dad. In her mind, she zips around in an olive pond in his little troller boat, five years old, orange Charlie Brown fishingpole firmly in hand. She diligently searchs for tadpoles, and frogs, and turtles sunning on soggy logs as he points them out.

Bedtime, and she's laying in a pile of pillows, chin propped in her hands, soaking up the tales of trees that could walk and talk, and little people that went on great adventures (Tolkein kindergarten style). She looks proudly up at him, as her cousins, who sleep over, beg for one more story.

Racing through the house, she flees the rubber band fights that leave her giddy and breathless and giggly. Laughing at her father who has constructed make-shift rubber band guns, ducking and weaving to avoid getting hit. Knowing her dad is oddly wonderful, and spontaneous and fun.

Agonizing over the perfect gift for Father's Day, she finally decides on a box to keep his paperclips. Or a fish-shaped mug. Or a hand-made book of poetry. Or a four pound novelty chocolate bar. Or a ten gallon jug of cologne from the dollar store.

She remembers Monopoly. Bible stories. April Fools. Saturday softball. Christmas Fudge. Fantasy books. Ghost stories. Pizza night. Coronation ceremonies. Fish fries. The Natchez Trace.

Dads aren't perfect. That's a lesson that comes hard for some reason, especially to daughters. The world seems a little off kilter when that realization sets in for the first time. You find yourself floundering, stunned. It stings a little. But, then, something cool happens. You start to see the man behind the screen, and he's more than you thought. You begin to see that he is just as capable of making mistakes and stumbling as you are, but he's trying, just like you. He struggles to find his path, just like you. Now you can love him for the person that he really is, and not just because he's your dad. Embracing him despite his weaknesses and humanity, because he has embraced you knowing yours all along.

I don't say this often enough, or well enough, but I love my dad. He gave me a sanctuary to grow up in. He fueled my imagination, he curbed sinful tendencies, he challenged me and encouraged me, and instilled values and priorities that have guided me throughout my life. He wasn't perfect, and neither am I. One day, my children will see me that in me. But it is my hope, that they will also remember the sanctuary I tried to build around them, housing them in safety and love and fun.

When I look at my dad, those are the things I remember.

Posted by Shannon at July 1, 2004 03:32 PM | TrackBack