my dad and me.

The weather was cool and sunny, perfect for a morning adventure, and I was lucky enough to have scored two passes for one of the most popular protected trails in the state. That day during our family trip in Colorado, my Dad and I got dropped off at the trail head and once our passes were checked, we started the trek in to Hanging Lake. Watching for the roots and rocks alongside the mountain stream as we went up, we dipped in and out of conversation, taking our time and lots of breaks since the hike in was pretty steep and the air was thinner than we were used to. It was the first time in a long while that we had gotten to spend some one-on-one time together, without a tornado of children or a slew of family around. I love these rare gems with my Dad, because it’s here I get to see more of who he is, who he was, what he thinks about and dreams about. Sometimes as I learn more about him, it seems like he’s lived so many lives in different places and with different people. I’m lucky that I’ve gotten to be one of them. 

My Dad is one of the only people that has known me and been with me since I was born. We have a winding family history, but somehow the two of us have remained stuck together over all of these years. He’s told me before that as rocky as parts of my childhood turned out to be, he  always believed that us being together was the best thing that he could do. I think he was right. Even though there was a cost tied to that however you spun it. As I’ve earned almost a decade in parenting my own children, I’ve been able to view our story through a different lens. To see more clearly some of the years that felt so heavy or confusing. He taught me so many things over our “together years” living in the same house, but reflecting on his character reminds me of some of the most valuable ones I left with.

My Dad is stubborn. I’m just going to throw that out there. And I absolutely get that from him. But his stubbornness taught me a lot. I learned that if I committed to something, I had to honor my word. Like in the second grade when I signed up to play basketball and I was super excited because I got to wear a blue “Magic” shirt, and then I realized that it was pretty much all running and I really actually hated running. I cried so hard after the first game, it was SO terrible. I couldn’t breathe, the coach was yelling at me to “keep running”, and people were touching me and slapping at me and WHAT THE HECK WAS THIS?! I begged him to let me quit, but he told me that I had made a commitment to my team, and while I didn’t have to play another season for the rest of my life, I would very much indeed have to finish that current one. I figured out that softball was a no-contact sport and I fell into that around 3rd grade and played all the way through highschool. Once I had a team that I actually wanted to be a part of, I understood what he meant. I knew that it wasn’t just about me. And I understood picking a sport with breaks between the running was especially crucial for me. Lesson learned.

My Dad was STRICT. Ask any of my friends in highschool, and I’m pretty sure I was grounded for at least 60% of those years because the never-ending construction traffic on the bridge in Henry County made me late coming home almost every time I went out with friends, and I was grounded a day for every minute late I was returning home. (In case you were wondering, they finished the construction shortly after I graduated and left for college. Feel my pain.) I actually had a guy from another school tell me once that he really wanted to date me, but he had heard rumors about how strict my parents were and wasn’t up for the challenge. Dad won that battle without even trying, his reputation preceded him. Like a true ninja! He also has this crazy way of just knowing things. Like I’m pretty sure the Lord just drops him intel in a pinch because there is no other way he could know some of the things he discovered. But I also realized later how much of this was his protective nature, not wanting even a shred of harm to get it’s gnarled claw through to his kids. While maybe sometimes the strictness was driven by fear, it was always rooted in love. The friends I had growing up who didn’t have that protective parent had stories that played out much different than mine, and I learned later in life what value that actually did hold. I also got really good at doodling, making magazine collages, and dabbled in sewing. I had open-ended time to think, to listen to music, to journal and write even as a kid. Looking back I realize how crucial that time was for me to figure out who I was back then. I’m still fighting for open-ended time for my kids today, realizing the treasure tucked within it. My Dad taught me that creativity blossoms in boredom. 

My Dad valued family. He was always intrigued by ancestry, loved learning about our Native American heritage and European family crests, and had old photos of those he loved growing up that we never got a chance to meet. He and I are both from Oklahoma and still have family out there, and he made a point to send me out every summer as a kid to spend time with my Okies. I would hang out with my cousins, listening to Foo Fighters as loud as the car stereo would play and let my Uncle Dale squeeze me in the biggest hug while making farting sounds. (He still does that even now, in case you’re wondering… I’m sure you were.) My Aunt Cheryl would always lovingly play with my hair or show me pictures of all of us when we were kids. She has always been one of my favorite conversationalists, always so curious and gracious and funny all at the same time. I would stay up late and watch movies with my Nana while she shockingly took her teeth out, which blew my mind because I didn’t even know she had fake teeth. I would play with my PawPaw and MawMaw’s kittens and goats on their little farm, climbing trees, eating cookies for breakfast and watching TV while my PawPaw “rested his eyes” on the couch in his overalls. Dad urged me in the middle school and highschool years to pick my little brother and sister over my friends when I had the chance, because they wouldn’t always think I was awesome, and they would be around way longer than my friends would. I mean, they still think I’m awesome, but he was absolutely right. Family is a gift, sometimes fleeting, always morphing with age and time. He taught me to savor the best of it, and let the rest just shake out. 

I’m thankful for the man the Lord has made my Dad to be, and I see His fingerprints all over him. He tucked me in each night giving me a small and gentle kiss on the top of my head, usually just as I was drifting off to sleep. Sometimes I was totally awake and would just pretend to sleep so I wouldn’t miss out. In all that toughness, there was so much tender. That is still my favorite part about him.

P.S. I love you, Dad.