Father’s Day

by Bill Allen

 

This year, for the first time since I was born, I have no father to celebrate with on Fathers Day. After a long, happy life, Dad passed away last winter at the young age of 92.  As one of three children, I was asked to say a few words at his funeral. My first thought was “Not gonna happen!” In the way of writers’ everywhere, I preferred putting words down on paper rather than voicing them to a crowd, particularly at a time when my emotions were sure to be raw with grief.

My sister was already preparing a thorough speech of her own, highlighting Dad’s life, so I needed something different. I decided to put together a list of a few things I learned from Dad, figuring it was something I could safely read without breaking down. I was of course wrong, but now, with a little time to process, I think it’s safe to dig out my list and dust it off for Fathers Day.  A lot of what Dad gave me had to be taught, whether through words or by example. I’m not sure if all of those things were for the best, but Dad thought they were important, so here are a few of them. Who knows? Maybe one or two apply to your fathers, too.

Dad taught me how to fix just about anything. 

He taught me a love for solving puzzles. 

He taught me to drive at least five miles per hour over the speed limit, so I don’t hold up traffic, and to pull into the middle of the intersection when waiting to make a left turn, so people can get around me. 

He taught me to spot a deer standing still in the woods, and to walk slowly and soundlessly, so I don’t scare away the wildlife.

He taught me that if I watch the ground when I walk, I’ll find all the stuff people drop.

He taught me how not to make lemon meringue pie.

He taught me not to take life too seriously.

He taught me that I should keep busy during my free hours, but that it’s okay to take time in the evening to sit in the dark and just listen. 

He taught me to spin the car around a few times on purpose after the first snowfall of the season.

He taught me that early morning is the most under-appreciated time of day.

He taught me that when you’re truly thirsty, nothing tastes better than water.

He taught me to listen before I speak.

He taught me to make fun of my own faults, and never anyone else’s.

He taught me to turn out the lights when I leave a room.

He taught me to pick up a broom and sweep when I’m out of things to do and waiting for the boss to return.

He taught me to give my body time to heal itself before I run to the doctor.

He taught me not to believe everything I’m told (unless he was the one doing the telling).

He taught me that not all kids have families like ours, so they might have different views of what is right and what is wrong.

He taught me that what I think is important will change as I grow older, and that truth is almost always disproved with experience.

He taught me that a promise made is a promise kept.

He taught me to know with certainty that if something can be accomplished, I can accomplish it.

He taught me to keep my head down during my golf swing.

He taught me to see the humor in everything. I think more than anything he wished he could have been the type to laugh at a funeral.

And he taught me that if you truly love someone, you’ll never need to tell them.

What I’m not sure he realized is that it’s okay to tell them, too.

I love you, Dad.

 

Bill Allen is the author of the Journals of Myrth.