In my 44 years I have known many fathers. Grandfathers, uncles, friends, brothers, fathers-in-law, husbands, daddys, pastors, cousins, co-workers, bonus dads. All of them helped to shape the lives of kids in some way, whether they were biological children or not. I am going to attempt to describe my relationships with the three best fathers I have had the pleasure of sharing my life with these past 44 years. This won’t be an easy story to tell, but I feel it is worth telling and I hope you will enjoy this lengthy post.
It may sound cliché, but the ultimate Father I have known is one that I am getting to know better as my life unfolds – God, the Father in Heaven. My brand of religion is Methodist, however, I have a good bit of Southern Baptist thrown in for good measure. My mom’s family were Methodist, and she was the one that mostly took me to church on Sundays. My dad was raised Southern Baptist, his maternal grandmother was the historian at their local church and taught Sunday school and other classes. She was the typical strong Baptist wife who prayed deeply and often. Religion wasn’t spoken a lot in our house when I was growing up, it was something we did by example. Do unto others and the like. However, I always knew that God was someone to be in awe of, that He was ever watchful and that He was definitely someone that I didn’t want to upset. My mom and I would go to a little country church every Sunday, stopping by to pick up her mother along the way. When I say little, I mean the largest congregation count I ever remember was 22, and that was when most of my mom’s family would be in attendance. It was the typical country church, white clapboard siding, pine furnishings, three rooms (no bathroom or plumbing of any kind), white steeple reaching into the Heavens. The pastor was really a layman, the piano player was a community woman who had taken piano lessons. My mom was one of the two Sunday school teachers. Everyone had ‘assigned’ seats. There was the funny little elderly man that sat on the back row each Sunday, I remember he had very thick glasses and drove an old green van. When I started watching the TV show M*A*S*H, the character Radar reminded me of this little man. I wish I could remember his name. I do not recall him ever saying anything to anyone, but he was a gentle man, I was never afraid of him. And he was there every Sunday without fail. In my childhood, this was the church I associated with the most. Dad didn’t go to church much unless there was something weighing on him and he needed a place to go to receive comfort. His church, the church he grew up in with my great-grandmother, was a large, prominent Baptist church in the center of town. It always reminded me of a castle the way it was built. When I would go with him I remember hearing stories of fire and brimstone from the old pastor that would almost scream from the pulpit. The pews were packed most every Sunday. It wasn’t really a pleasant place for me as a child, but, I would go with him to even out the times of going with my mom somewhat, and it seemed to make him happy for me to walk to church with him the few times we would go. (My parents were not divorced, they simply had different religions) Because the church my mom went to didn’t have many people, if I wanted to go to things like Vacation Bible School, I would go to dad’s church. I made a few friends there, and later on in school, had many friends that attended this church as well.
As I have aged, religion has taken on a new meaning for me – as I would assume it does for most. When my dad was sick with cancer, I prayed to whatever god would listen to heal him. The day my dad passed away, I prayed to God the Father in Heaven to take me instead. And, mostly for the courage to say the words I needed my dad to hear me say. Words that never would come out of my mouth. I was always the strong one in our family, my dad made sure of that. He never tolerated much show of emotion from me. Six months before my dad passed away, my Texan and I were married in a beautiful outdoor garden wedding. The pastor we chose was one we had never met before, but we came to know and love him. He was Methodist, about our age, had a small daughter at the time and didn’t seem to want to cram religion down our throats. He is a baseball fan which helped tremendously. But most of all, he was the first pastor that taught me to love the Lord. To see the Lord as almost a person, forgiving, caring, loving and not the person to fear that I had always imagined in my head growing up. Now, that isn’t to say He isn’t to be respected, but I could see Him as a loving entity. The wedding ceremony was beautiful. Throughout the next several years, my Texan and my favorite teenager and I would travel the hour it took to go listen to our pastor preach in his church. And my heart was full of love. We didn’t make every Sunday, but Pastor didn’t seem to mind, he never chastised us for missing, only made us feel welcome as often as we could make it. He always had a smile and a kind word for all of us. This was what God became to me, a welcoming soul. Suddenly we found out that Pastor would be moving closer to us, we were thrilled! He would be about 30 minutes away, and we could make it to church more often. So, on Father’s Day Sunday, we crowded into a church we had never been to before, with many people we didn’t know, to welcome the new pastor on his first Sunday to preach! Talk about feeling loved and welcomed! We liked it so much we made it every Sunday we possibly could make to hear our friend the Pastor speak. His sermons were always inspiring, he seldom missed a sermon without a sports reference or at the very least, a real life experience reference. Again, my heart was filled with love and respect for a God that I grew up fearing.
Something else happened along the way, while we were going to this new church. Our little family became closer, more loving, more tender, more positive, more caring. We began enjoying life together more and more. We became more relaxed, happier. Then, something else happened. We suddenly began falling apart. I noticed it slowly, mainly because it was duck season and my Texan didn’t attend church much during duck season. But then he stopped going altogether after duck season. We attended our last church service together in March. Then in Easter that year, I went on my own to church with my mother. Then the following Sunday, ‘our’ church was having a burning of the deed ceremony, again, I attended alone. However, all I could do was sit and cry. I do not remember much about the sermon, but I know Pastor could see me. I could feel his eyes on me as all I could do was sob. After church I tried my best to slip past him and out the door to not call attention to myself. However, he caught me. Wanted to know how he could help. I didn’t know. Because at the time I didn’t know what was happening to my family. He simply said these words “I will pray for you all.” With that, I remembered that God loved me, no matter what. And that no matter my sins, God would forgive me and be there for me. It was a very tumultuous several months. However, Pastor announced soon that he would be leaving (this is the Methodist way, to move pastors around). My heart was crushed with the things going on in my family, however, I had this very strong pull for something…anything to hold onto. So, I prayed, and I prayed, and I prayed some more. Ultimately, I decided that I should become baptized – something I had never done before, I wasn’t even Christened as a baby. So, I met with Pastor, and we determined a date and a church service and I made my vows to God, the church and the congregation. It was important to me that this man be the one to baptize me, after all, he was the one that taught me how loving God really was. At 42 years old, I was baptized by the pastor that had become a friend, in front of a congregation that had become extended family and in the eyes of a God that I had come to love.
I still pray each and every day, for friends, family, others. But I also pray for my Texan and my favorite teenager, that they will be surrounded by God’s love, and that they will feel my love for them through God. That we will very soon get back to where we started with our love for each other. That God will use our family as a positive influence upon many others. As I have also lost my job, I pray that God will put me on a path to find a job that will bring Him honor. I don’t attend church regularly, I know that I should, but it is hard for me to go into that building where my friend once preached about Andy Griffith, baseball and life. And where I sat with my best friend, and prayed together and learned about a loving God, and held hands and celebrated with our church family. So, I consider myself more spiritual than religious at this stage in my life. However, that doesn’t change my love for God our Father.
The second father I want to talk about is my daddy. He, too, wasn’t always easy for me to love. Oh, I always loved him, yes. But it wasn’t always easy. He was strict, he was stubborn, he was obstinate, he was very hard to please and I oftentimes wondered if I would ever measure up to any of his very high expectations of me. Many times I feared him – not that he ever laid a hand on me, I suppose he had his bluff in on me, but I was always afraid of disappointing him. He was also very hard working, supportive, intelligent beyond compare, sacrificed many times for our family, dedicated, and loving in his own way. Writing about my daddy is tough. He enjoyed Christmas, even though he fussed about it. He loved family. He loved the outdoors. He hunted and fished and shot guns. He was a true perfectionist. He was a boy scout leader, taking my brother’s troop from cub scouts all the way to Eagle Scouts. Not much of a sports enthusiast at all though. He would take an occasional half-hearted interest in football, but never really cared a lot about it. He worked at the same company for 28 years, until he had to take early retirement due to cancer. He cared about others. Raised beagles. Took in every stray animal or person he could find. We never knew who might come for dinner. He loved to walk. He loved history, particularly war history. He had a dry sense of humor and it was hard to tell if he was being serious or funny sometimes. When he had his strokes and his right side had some paralysis, he had to give up shooting guns and turned to shooting pictures instead. Again, a perfectionist, he could make his camera portray life in a way not many can. There is a picture of The Old Mill in North Little Rock that hangs over my mom’s bed that he took on a gorgeous spring day that makes you feel as if you could simply walk into the picture and be standing in the park.
As a child, I strived to do anything and everything I could to win his approval. I grew up shooting guns competitively and quickly became the best in the state in my age bracket – every single year. A B on a paper or report card would send me into overdrive because I didn’t want to bring it home for my daddy to see. I was sure he would be disappointed in me. He would always say “What are you going to do next time so this doesn’t ever happen again?” When it came time to date, I never wanted him to know because I didn’t want the intimidation, so, I simply didn’t date much at all. Until I turned 18. Then I met my first husband, who was a way out of all the perceived hassle of my parents’ house. I never should have married him, and I never will forget the look of hurt and disappointment on my daddy’s face the day I told him we were going to Hawaii to get married. He knew the guy had no ambition. He knew he wasn’t the one for me. He was hurt that I chose him over my daddy. But, nothing could deter me. Flash forward seven years and I was done with the guy. He really wasn’t for me. Shortly after I was done with him, my Texan came into my life. He was so much like my daddy it was scary. Hard working, loving, stubborn, kind hearted, tender at all the right times. They bonded over a love for trains and me. Unfortunately, my Texan didn’t know my daddy in his prime. Shortly after we met, my daddy became sick with his first bout of cancer and had to undergo the intensive treatments that left him sick and weak. So, my Texan never did get to go hunting with my daddy. Never did get to see him really active. However, he did take my daddy on a train ride with my favorite teenager. One that my daddy proudly told everyone he would see about until the day he was so sick he couldn’t talk, which was the day before he died. He was so excited to get to go on that train ride with my Texan. He told the story so many times I have it memorized. How wonderful it was to get to drive the engine a little while, the things they saw along the way. The heat from the engine. The different people they came in contact with. The enthusiasm he would tell this story with was childlike. My Texan was certain to ask my daddy’s permission before he asked me to marry him, and even though my Texan is full of confidence, he told me after that he was afraid of what he would say. My dad, always one to get the last word in whenever he could, simply told him “Well, she’s grown, and if she says yes, then I say yes.” But deep down, I think he was honored that my Texan respected him enough to ask his permission. My daddy had a deep love for my Texan and my favorite teenager. They both brought much joy and happiness to him in his later years. He was proud that I had found someone that brought me so much happiness. And happy that I had found someone that not only challenged me to be a better person that ever before, but someone that worked hard, was ambitious and was tender, loving and supportive of whatever crazy scheme I could come up with. I think he felt like my Texan was ‘the one’ for me. I couldn’t have agreed more, and I still do today. If my daddy were alive today, and knew what was going on with us, I think he would sit me down and say “if you still love him as much as ever, and you feel safe with him and he feels like home to you, then keep fighting.” He wouldn’t say it in words, but that is what his heart would say to mine. I love you daddy, and after eight years of you being gone, I am finally able to say that out loud. I am sorry I couldn’t say it the day you died, but I hope your heart heard mine. You were a good daddy…and I appreciate all the lessons you taught me, and the ones you let me learn on my own without saying ‘I told you so’.
The third father that has shown me so much of life is my husband, my Texan. The father of my favorite teenager. The man whom my soul searches for even now, even after the things life has thrown our way. I met my favorite teenager on Father’s Day, and I was so honored that my Texan chose his day to introduce me to the one that comes first for him in everything. We met at the Waffle House – her favorite breakfast spot at the time. Bacon, toast and sweet tea were her choices to eat. She had pig tails and big brown eyes and clung to her daddy like any typical five year old daddy’s girl does when they meet someone new. Someone they aren’t so sure about. Daddy’s are protectors and he was very protective of his baby. We ate and got to know each other some over breakfast. I fell in love with her immediately, what wasn’t to love? Other than the fact that she has brown eyes and his are blue, she was his ‘mini me’. Funny, rambunctious, fearless, full of life. Watching the two of them interact made my heart all the more full. We decided a day at the zoo was in order. The day started out relatively cool, but as it wore on, it became very hot! The animals soon were inside and not out on exhibit. We were all hot, and worn out from the days introductions and activities. Off to Chick-Fil-A for a late lunch/early dinner (I was soon to find out this was her other favorite place to eat!). Then it was time to go our separate ways, them south an hour, me north an hour. All the way home I was thrilled at how well we all interacted all day. She posed for her daddy’s camera at every exhibit. We rode the train together. Had such a wonderful day. Again, to think he would share his day with me, meant all the world to me – still does to this day, nearly thirteen years later. I knew she was his first true love. We dated nearly a full year before he introduced her to me, and I was ok with that, I never wanted him to feel pressure or rushed to do anything with me. I wanted it from his heart. I already knew he was wonderful, but meeting her sealed it for me. Ironically, to circle back to my daddy, my Texan proposed to me in front of that Old Mill in North Little Rock that my daddy took the amazing picture of, on a very cold January afternoon. A day that will always be one of the happiest days of my life. We have spent so much time together over the last several years, she became almost mine. I never wanted to take the place of her mom, but I like to think that I taught her a few things about life and I KNOW she taught me much about not only life, but myself. Again, she helped make me a better person. Our little family traveled many places together over the years, we bought a house together and we made it a home, we have had more than our share of hardships. Any blended family does, any FAMILY does. But, one thing that has kept me going is the twinkle in my Texans eye whenever anyone would ask about my favorite teenager. It has been over a year since I have gotten to experience the shear joy of just spending time with my Texan and my favorite teenager. That is something I miss more than words can express. However, I know my Texan loves his baby girl as much as ever and he is so very proud of her. And he worries about her when they aren’t together, and, I believe he prays for her every day. She will be a senior in high school this next year, a year full of promises and hopes and dreams all coming together. I know that her daddy’s influence will greatly impact her decisions as she plans her life. I know she will never go through life wondering if her daddy loves her. And, I know that knowing the two of them, watching the two of them journey through life, seeing the love of a father and his daughter from a different perspective, has shaped my life into something so good, and so pure, and so right that I do not want to let it go. I hope and pray that they enjoy this Father’s Day together. He deserves the very best life has to offer, and so does she. I do not know everything that caused our little family to hit this bump in the road, but I hope and pray every day that it will smooth out and we can be an even stronger family than ever before.
I believe in what God the Father and my daddy always taught me – and I am paraphrasing so please excuse the wording, “Never give up on anyone, always hope and believe that the best will happen. Hang tough. Forgive often. Be an example to others. Live life to the fullest. Have faith. Stay true to your convictions. Pray everyday, believing in your prayers.”
I will close with these few thoughts in case anyone is still reading! I wish all the father figures in the world a very happy Father’s Day 2014. Never miss an opportunity to lift someone up, you may be all they have. Forgive and love often – even if you don’t feel like it. Tell those you love how you feel, hold your families tight. Say thank you. There is nothing like a bond between a father and his child. To God the Father – thank you for showing me love, even when I least deserved it. To my daddy – thank you for believing in me, loving me, and teaching me to be strong. To my Texan – thank you for sharing your love for your daughter with me, thank you for teaching me what true, unconditional love is….that is what I have for you.
Thank you all for reading, please, as always, your comments are always welcome. I hope this touched some of you and I hope you enjoy reading my ramblings. Feel free to share with others.
Living Fearlessly, Growing Self Confidence 