We stood quietly in the corner of the room, listening to the beep-beep-beeping of the monitors, unable to tear our eyes away from the resting form of my Daddy. He lay dark and still in the ICU hospital bed, a confusion of tubes and lines running in and out of his rapidly failing body. He had grown progressively disoriented throughout the day.
When he finally opened his eyes, my sister-in-law began talking sweetly to him, but it was obvious Dad did not recognize her. Filled with panic, I leaned over his bed and said, “Hey, handsome…do you know who I am?” He looked into my eyes – so like his own - and the confusion on his face was replaced by a beautific smile.
“Well, of course I know who you are...I would never forget my Rob-bob-bobbin.”
Those were the last words I would ever hear him say. Four days later, he found his way to heaven.
For those of us without a Dad around to open our brightly colored envelope and read our carefully chosen card, Father’s Day is not always a Hallmark moment. Instead, it becomes one of those ‘signpost’ days that serve as markers of time.
This is my 13th Father’s Day without my Daddy. Sometimes it feels like forever. Some days it feels like it was only last week. But most days, I’m good with it. Because, not only do I believe in heaven with a childlike faith and intensity, I also have no doubt my Daddy is Up There helping God run the place. Or at least directing the goings on within the vicinity of his little cabin. His little cabin in the corner, directly adjacent to the Glory Land Golf Course, of course. When he’s not singing gospel with his Dad & six brothers, I would wager plenty that you could find him on the golf course with Jesus - keeping score.
When he finally opened his eyes, my sister-in-law began talking sweetly to him, but it was obvious Dad did not recognize her. Filled with panic, I leaned over his bed and said, “Hey, handsome…do you know who I am?” He looked into my eyes – so like his own - and the confusion on his face was replaced by a beautific smile.
“Well, of course I know who you are...I would never forget my Rob-bob-bobbin.”
Those were the last words I would ever hear him say. Four days later, he found his way to heaven.
For those of us without a Dad around to open our brightly colored envelope and read our carefully chosen card, Father’s Day is not always a Hallmark moment. Instead, it becomes one of those ‘signpost’ days that serve as markers of time.
This is my 13th Father’s Day without my Daddy. Sometimes it feels like forever. Some days it feels like it was only last week. But most days, I’m good with it. Because, not only do I believe in heaven with a childlike faith and intensity, I also have no doubt my Daddy is Up There helping God run the place. Or at least directing the goings on within the vicinity of his little cabin. His little cabin in the corner, directly adjacent to the Glory Land Golf Course, of course. When he’s not singing gospel with his Dad & six brothers, I would wager plenty that you could find him on the golf course with Jesus - keeping score.
Imagining my Daddy as happy and whole makes me smile all over. I can’t be selfish enough to want him here more than I want him in heaven...even though it is far away above the clouds, above the moon, above the sun. I know heaven must be UP there, somewhere, because I have a deep and abiding faith that there will be M&M’s in heaven – mostly red peanut M&M’s – the streets of gold will be lined with buckets of the delicious chocolate bits. Therefore, it stands to reason that heaven would need to be a good distance from the sun so that the M&M’s wouldn’t melt. But I digress…What I’m trying to say is this: the best way I know to honor my Dad on Father’s Day is to walk about with a heart filled with gratitude to God for allowing me the privilege of being the daughter of this oh so unique and special man. To celebrate a life well-lived. To remember with joy all the ways he filled my life, all the wonderful lessons he taught me. Lessons I carry with me today, such as:
HOW TO TIE SHOES. Daddy taught me the Bunny Method. Something about making two bunny ears and jumping into a hole and coming out the other side. I don’t remember the verse, but I remember watching his big hands patiently guiding my small ones through the multi-stepped process. And I remember his smile when I finally got it right.
HOW TO LOVE. He was the charmed seventh son of eight siblings…the satellite around which everyone in his world orbited. He was the first person we all called for help, the last one to leave someone in need. Through my Daddy I learned that every soul I meet is a child of God who deserves to be valued. And that nothing on this earth is more important than family.
HOW TO MAKE HOMEMADE ICE CREAM. Or rather, how to keep the freezer in place while hand-cranking. I was always the one chosen to sit atop the ice cream maker while Daddy turned the handle. I thought it was because I was his favorite. I later realized it was only because my butt was *ahem* more insulated than my brothers' boney butts, and therefore more tolerant to prolonged ice sitting. Wusses.HOW TO DANCE. I remember dancing with my Daddy while standing on top of his shoes, my hands gripping onto his for dear life, my head tilted all the way back as we moved in laughing unison to the songs on the radio. When I was a wee bit older, he taught me how to twist along with him and Chubby Checker, using these cues: pretend you’re holding a towel behind you and drying off your hiney, while using your toes to stub out a cigarette. Round and around and up and down we go…
HOW TO BE A NINJA. Well, sorta. I never quite figured out how he could be snoring soundly on the couch, yet spring to full wakefulness the very second I worked up enough nerve to change the TV channel. I finally got smart enough to send my baby brother into the room to change it for me. The closest I ever came to developing such covert skills was growing eyes in the back of my head after becoming a Mom.
HOW TO BE STRONG. Daddy was a Golden Gloves amateur boxer. He taught me at a very young age how to keep my guard up while throwing a mean right hook. And to aim at the chin for a TKO. More importantly, he taught me to be strong of character as well. And to never, ever give up. Cancer never got the best of Dad. He gave his best to us.HOW TO BE CONFIDENT. He loved to dress in bright colors – the brighter the better. The only problem was that he was more than a little bit color blind. Dad thought nothing of wearing a pink golf shirt with purple pants and fuchsia socks. One might think that walking into a room full of manly men in such a get-up would require a monumental amount of courage. Not so for my Dad. He thought he was pretty, and convinced everybody around him it was so. And so it was.
HOW TO CULTIVATE A SWEET TOOTH. I would spend literally all day baking tiny cakes in my Easy Bake Oven under a 60-watt light bulb and watch with no small amount of discouragement as my Daddy would devour the iced offerings in three bites. He always had a special drawer that he kept stocked with M&M's, coconut haystacks and candy corn. Once, he decided to back off the sugar and went on a Slim Fast diet for a week. He gained two pounds because he kept adding a scoop of vanilla ice cream to his Slim Fast shakes. Diet Fail.
HOW TO BE A GOOD SCOUT. Dad was an incredible scout leader. He often let me tag along with the boys and in doing so I learned to be: Trustworthy, Loyal, Helpful, Friendly, Courteous, Kind, Obedient, Cheerful, Thrifty, Brave, Clean and Reverent. Okay, so I didn’t excel in obedience and reverence. But on my honor, I did my best.
HOW TO LIE TO CHILDREN. He loved nothing more than Christmas Eve with his seven grandsons. He called them his Magnificent Seven and every year he would come up with a creative new way to whip those small boys into a frenzy of anticipation. My favorite was when he hung up the phone after a call from Santa and reported to seven pairs of rounded eyes that Rudolph the Reindeer had suffered a broken leg and gift delivery would be ‘iffy’.
(Don’t even get me started on Raw Hide and Bloody Bones!)
HOW TO BE A GOOD PARENT. No one ever made me feel as protected…whether from an imagined boogeyman or a mostly harmless boyfriend. On my wedding day, my Daddy and I stood at the end of the aisle with our arms linked together, fighting back tears. He squeezed my hand, tilted his head towards mine and whispered “You know it’s not too late to back out. We can turn around and walk right out that door over there, if you’re not ready.” I never loved him more than at that moment.
HOW TO APPRECIATE MUSIC. Dad loved music. He not only had the most beautiful deep bass voice, he was also an accomplished saxophone player. He loved to sit his grandsons on his knee and sing them his over-the-top version of Old Shep. I never rode in his car without hearing the gospel harmony of the Blackwood Brothers or The Gaithers filling the air. And I will never hear “I’ll Fly Away” without missing my Daddy.
HOW TO BE CREATIVE. My Daddy’s hands were large and calloused with fat, stubby fingers…not the hands of a mere mortal…and not what you would imagine the hands of an artist to be. But those talented hands and fingers could do the most amazingly intricate work. He put them to the test over the years with his many and varied hobbies: jewelry making, silverwork, beading, leatherwork, woodburning, designing model airplanes, repairing golf clubs…to name a few.
HOW TO PLAY. He lived to golf. So much so that when he was diagnosed with inoperable lung cancer, the first question he asked the doctor was, “How long have I got to play?” From that day forward, each day was measured by whether or not it was a Good Golf Day. He taught me to live for today, that tomorrow usually takes care of itself.
HOW TO SAY GOODBYE.
I never saw him leave the house without kissing my Mom goodbye. Even when he was angry with her. If I was in the room, he would always blow me kisses on his way out the door. Even when he fell into a coma and we moved him to hospice, I swear he blew me kisses when I bent down to hug him.
**************************************************
From dancing on his toes to wrapping him around my little finger…I will never forget my Daddy and all that he taught me. It wasn’t so much that he made a point of telling me how to live right and be a good person; it was simply that he was a good man who lived a good life… and I learned from watching.
And though I can no longer touch him, I often feel him near. I’ll get a whiff of Old Spice and expect to see him walk around the corner in his purple golf cap. Other moments I feel him looking over my shoulder, and I will hold myself very still so as not to disturb the rarified air. I see him in my sons’ smiles, I hear him in my brother’s voice. I marvel at the tiny hands of my grandsons that are shaped just like his.
And then there are those times when I catch my own reflection in a mirror, and see his eyes looking back at me...
HOW TO APPRECIATE MUSIC. Dad loved music. He not only had the most beautiful deep bass voice, he was also an accomplished saxophone player. He loved to sit his grandsons on his knee and sing them his over-the-top version of Old Shep. I never rode in his car without hearing the gospel harmony of the Blackwood Brothers or The Gaithers filling the air. And I will never hear “I’ll Fly Away” without missing my Daddy.
HOW TO BE CREATIVE. My Daddy’s hands were large and calloused with fat, stubby fingers…not the hands of a mere mortal…and not what you would imagine the hands of an artist to be. But those talented hands and fingers could do the most amazingly intricate work. He put them to the test over the years with his many and varied hobbies: jewelry making, silverwork, beading, leatherwork, woodburning, designing model airplanes, repairing golf clubs…to name a few.
HOW TO PLAY. He lived to golf. So much so that when he was diagnosed with inoperable lung cancer, the first question he asked the doctor was, “How long have I got to play?” From that day forward, each day was measured by whether or not it was a Good Golf Day. He taught me to live for today, that tomorrow usually takes care of itself.
HOW TO SAY GOODBYE.
I never saw him leave the house without kissing my Mom goodbye. Even when he was angry with her. If I was in the room, he would always blow me kisses on his way out the door. Even when he fell into a coma and we moved him to hospice, I swear he blew me kisses when I bent down to hug him.**************************************************
From dancing on his toes to wrapping him around my little finger…I will never forget my Daddy and all that he taught me. It wasn’t so much that he made a point of telling me how to live right and be a good person; it was simply that he was a good man who lived a good life… and I learned from watching.
And though I can no longer touch him, I often feel him near. I’ll get a whiff of Old Spice and expect to see him walk around the corner in his purple golf cap. Other moments I feel him looking over my shoulder, and I will hold myself very still so as not to disturb the rarified air. I see him in my sons’ smiles, I hear him in my brother’s voice. I marvel at the tiny hands of my grandsons that are shaped just like his.
And then there are those times when I catch my own reflection in a mirror, and see his eyes looking back at me...
Wherever you are, my Daddy, whether golfing with Jesus or singing with the saints, I promise to remember you with joy on Father’s Day. I hope you smile when you think of me, too.
And I really hope you're not eating up all the red M&M’s. Save some for me...your Rob-bob-bobbin.
And I really hope you're not eating up all the red M&M’s. Save some for me...your Rob-bob-bobbin.
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