It's a beautiful evening here as I sit on the back porch writing. Twilight is setting in. The clouds are a
mix of pink and and purple and a weird blue-gray. The moon is out -- a
waxing gibbous, I think it's called. Looks like it'll be full in a few
days. It's a painting. God doing his best Bob Ross. Or maybe God let Bob paint this one...
I don't know what it is about Father's Day that makes me think about my dad. Just one of life's little mysteries, I suppose.
Saturday, the plan was to meet Dad and his wife and go to supper and to the cemetery where his parents are buried. (I've written about the cemetery here.) Dad wanted to meet at 3:30. It's about a 45-minute-to-an-hour drive to the cemetery. So I'm thinking we'll get there at 4:30, leave the cemetery around 5ish, and be at the restaurant by 5:15 or so. I know they like to eat super early, so that seemed like a good compromise.
I cannot adequately describe the moment of surprise and just wanting to burst out laughing out loud as Dad blew past the exit to the cemetery and I realized, "Oh, my dear Heavenly Father, we are about to eat supper at 4:15 in the afternoon."
But that's exactly what happened.
As we were ordering our drinks, my step-mom got water and whispered, "I didn't figure I oughta have any caffeine this late in the day." Meanwhile, I was looking much forward to my sweet tea and thinking, "I'll be doing great if this is the last caffeine I have today!"
After force-feeding myself a rather delicious meal of a cheeseburger, chili dog, (What? They're really small! Everybody gets multiples!) and banana pudding for dessert, we left for the cemetery.
Dad took a different way -- an old way -- and showed us the house where he grew up. As we continued on the drive, I asked where his high school was, and he started peering off the road to the right. He said, "You can probably see it behind these new buildings." The buildings turned out to be the new school. He didn't realize they had built one. And though I'm sure it didn't bother him, I felt bad for him in that instant.
Later, he took us clear across town to the cemetery where his two half-brothers are buried. They weren't buried near each other and they obviously weren't buried by their parents. I wondered why. Dad didn't seem to know.
At some point as we walked amongst the peaceful rows of markers and flowers Dad mentioned that he and his wife had already purchased their spaces at a cemetery near where they live now. It's not something I wanted to think or talk about, so I left his words to linger and fade without a response. At the same time, I marveled at how he spoke of his own mortality with such matter-of-factness.
I think Dad is in a really good place these days. There's an ease in him now that wasn't always there. A contentment. He seems to have found the answers to some of life's many questions. It gives me hope that I, who take after him in so many other ways, will do the same.
He's all over Facebook now. He mentioned it on at least six separate occasions during our excursion Saturday. And when I called to see if he wanted to do this for Father's Day, he was at the gym.
We leave each other with a hug instead of a handshake anymore. And the "I love yous" are no longer just implied.
But not everything has changed. He's still playing the guitar, still working, still driving the same old Chevy truck, which seems to always be barely running. He's still in church every Sunday morning and night. And he remains quite taken with his role as a grandpa. "Peepaw," Nephew Bone calls him. Some might say it's the role he was born to play.
Me, I always kinda thought he made a pretty good dad.
"I notice I walk the way he walks / I notice I talk the way he talks / I'm startin' to see / My father in me..."
I don't know what it is about Father's Day that makes me think about my dad. Just one of life's little mysteries, I suppose.
Saturday, the plan was to meet Dad and his wife and go to supper and to the cemetery where his parents are buried. (I've written about the cemetery here.) Dad wanted to meet at 3:30. It's about a 45-minute-to-an-hour drive to the cemetery. So I'm thinking we'll get there at 4:30, leave the cemetery around 5ish, and be at the restaurant by 5:15 or so. I know they like to eat super early, so that seemed like a good compromise.
I cannot adequately describe the moment of surprise and just wanting to burst out laughing out loud as Dad blew past the exit to the cemetery and I realized, "Oh, my dear Heavenly Father, we are about to eat supper at 4:15 in the afternoon."
But that's exactly what happened.
As we were ordering our drinks, my step-mom got water and whispered, "I didn't figure I oughta have any caffeine this late in the day." Meanwhile, I was looking much forward to my sweet tea and thinking, "I'll be doing great if this is the last caffeine I have today!"
After force-feeding myself a rather delicious meal of a cheeseburger, chili dog, (What? They're really small! Everybody gets multiples!) and banana pudding for dessert, we left for the cemetery.
Dad took a different way -- an old way -- and showed us the house where he grew up. As we continued on the drive, I asked where his high school was, and he started peering off the road to the right. He said, "You can probably see it behind these new buildings." The buildings turned out to be the new school. He didn't realize they had built one. And though I'm sure it didn't bother him, I felt bad for him in that instant.
Later, he took us clear across town to the cemetery where his two half-brothers are buried. They weren't buried near each other and they obviously weren't buried by their parents. I wondered why. Dad didn't seem to know.
At some point as we walked amongst the peaceful rows of markers and flowers Dad mentioned that he and his wife had already purchased their spaces at a cemetery near where they live now. It's not something I wanted to think or talk about, so I left his words to linger and fade without a response. At the same time, I marveled at how he spoke of his own mortality with such matter-of-factness.
I think Dad is in a really good place these days. There's an ease in him now that wasn't always there. A contentment. He seems to have found the answers to some of life's many questions. It gives me hope that I, who take after him in so many other ways, will do the same.
He's all over Facebook now. He mentioned it on at least six separate occasions during our excursion Saturday. And when I called to see if he wanted to do this for Father's Day, he was at the gym.
We leave each other with a hug instead of a handshake anymore. And the "I love yous" are no longer just implied.
But not everything has changed. He's still playing the guitar, still working, still driving the same old Chevy truck, which seems to always be barely running. He's still in church every Sunday morning and night. And he remains quite taken with his role as a grandpa. "Peepaw," Nephew Bone calls him. Some might say it's the role he was born to play.
Me, I always kinda thought he made a pretty good dad.
"I notice I walk the way he walks / I notice I talk the way he talks / I'm startin' to see / My father in me..."
