Yesterday was another birthday: my dad's. Or would have been. Dad died in 2001. He would have turned 100 this year! It's sad that my greatest appreciation for him has come only since his death. Dad had a rough childhood, emotionally. His father abandoned the family, leaving his mom to fend for herself and three young children. It's no surprise that that would create a sense of insecurity in a child, especially in a boy without a dad during his formative years. Dad's stepfather (whose name we bore) was a kind man, but the seeds of insecurity had already been sown, and Dad carried those into his adult life. He found in military service a place in which he had purpose and standing. He ran our home as if Provost Marshal was a job he was born with, rather than assigned during his Army career. After he retired as Lt. Colonel in 1960, his favorite topic of conversation seemed to be his military days.
My dad and I butted heads a lot during my teen years. For whatever reason, I never felt his love or approval, maybe because he had difficulty expressing emotions verbally. But looking back, I remember things he did for me that were his way of showing love: The little wooden record box and hand-tooled leather purse he made for me. The learning games he would play with me. (Good grades were the one area in which I felt his approval.) His encouragement (I saw it as pushiness) of my writing. His awkward compassionate outreach to me when I had my 17-year-old heart broken by a fickle boyfriend. His phone calls saying "It's time for an oil change"--I never had to worry about my car because he was always my mechanic. How blind of me not to see that these were gestures of love! I wish I had him back to express how much I appreciate him now. He is a part of whom I have become, the good and the bad. I love my dad.
" . . . Forgetting those things which are behind and reaching forward to those things which are ahead, I press toward the goal for the prize of the upward call of God in Christ Jesus" (Philippians 3:13-14).
