Dad

I started this yesterday and thanks to firefox, I have to rewrite it. And now I don't have the juju vibes going. Oh well. Sentiment isn't my forte anyway.

I used to think I was the neglected middle child who never got any attention from my parents. I still think that sometimes, a little, and they both know it's true. But I'm different from my siblings. I'm introverted and they just aren't. I'm quiet and reflective and anylitical and they are just less so. So when they were relating with my parents, they talked and did stuff and went places and got really engaged in what they did.
I didn't have as much to say.
I was thinking about Dad and the things he used to do with us when we were kids, so many things he did with all of us together. Like bike rides and walks at the park and playing baseball and soccer and fishing and reading Hardy Boys to us at night. I love those things. I love those memories.
When I knew I was loved the most, though, were those times I had a few minutes with just his attention. He'd sit and play checkers with me (and probably let me win) just so I'd know how to play. He also played thousands of rounds of Hang Man, which I think might be the most tedious game to play with a little elementary schooler who can't spell. Once in a while we'd go out to ride bikes just the two of us, and I wish now that I'd done it more. Toward middle school I stopped wanting to go and ride bike because I preferred to have time alone. Maybe he understood that. I still wish I'd gone with him though.
When we moved to town, I left my bike behind by accident, so one night he took me out in his truck back to the old farm to try and find the bike I'd left. I don't think we found it, but we stopped at the gas station and he bought me some gum. I don't know why it seemed so important at that time, but it was.
He took me shoe shopping once, and he let me get the expensive ones because I liked them. And I'd been fighting with my mom about them for a long time.
He was always letting us use (and lose) his tools to make things. Mostly my brother was the project lead on these activities, but I was always close beside. We made a raft once, and Dad took it down to the river for us and let us try it out. We watched while it floated away and sank in the river. Then we went fishing, and I guess that was the end of that.
He just had so many other ways to spend his time, but he spent it on us kids. On me. And that's why I am the way I am. I think that he helped me be my quiet self by not pushing his way in and trying to make me be like my brothers. Maybe I was overlooked some. But I don't mind. Because there are a lot of kids who never even knew their dad, or who had to worry about abuse or disappointments. My dad didn't break his promises. My dad didn't leave me to fight through things on my own. He loved me and he showed me how to love, and he taught me about God.
And I'l lalways love him, no matter how old we both get.
That's what I'm thinking of on Father's Day. A man who grew up with a less-than-ideal father, who chose to break the pattern and be a good one. A man who knows more than half the people around him but never bothers to point it out. A man who can figure skate, ride a horse, wrangle a cow, quote the Bible, drive a bus, and troubleshoot circuit breakers. He's the Dad who was there. The dad who has time. The dad who didn't leave me with baggage. He's wise and strong and lives faithfully to the God who called him. And I am part of his legacy. What a blessing.