Father's Day

Talk about some delay!  Just some thoughts and ramblings... hopefully a prequel to more.  I just had some things I had to get out...

            I find myself looking back more than usual this father's day but for some reason I just can't shake it.  I can say that the good days are far more numerous than the bad days than they used to be.  I remember for a few years after he passed, I would just be sitting in my car and it would hit me.  He's not here anymore.  It's been almost 7 years.  Seven years since he sat me down in that hospital room and told me to take care of my sister and mom.  It was the first time in a long while he ever told me he was proud of me and he loved me and just hugged me tight.  It took me 18 years to understand what it meant to love my father, and it lasted 2 months.   

            I never really did write about it like I had meant to.  I guess in a sense, the idealistic thought of my heavenly Father hasn't so much worn off as it has become less new to me.  Don't get me wrong, I still remember the day I came to terms with my dad's death.  I remember sitting in my room in a puddle of tears and looking up to God and saying, "I don't understand, but I still trust you.  Now you have some shoes to fill."  Oh, how He has filled them.  Better than I could have ever hoped or dreamed.

            Still, every now and then, I just know something is missing.  I know that somewhere, there's supposed to be a biological father I could call and tell about my daily exploits and victories.  Someone I can tell my fears to about marriage and my hopes and dreams of one day being a father like he is.  Telling him that I would strive to work as hard as he did to see that my family is taken care of and I would vow to never let my family dissuade me from my quirkiness just like he did.

            He wasn't the perfect father and that's ok.  I couldn't have expected him to be.  Deep down I believe he did what he felt necessary.  He was still human.  He tried so hard to get me to follow in his footsteps.  I still wish, every now and then, that I could rub it in his face.  Tell him how after years of fighting following in his footsteps, here I am, hands dirtied up and looking for the crescent wrench somebody took out of my tool bag, running through the current mechanical problem in my head trying to figure out what's wrong.  I want to rub it in his face so bad.  I want to hear him tell me that he's proud of me and I know that he would be.  I know he would be proud of me for what I've accomplished.  It doesn't make me a better person, a better man, but something about that day, hearing those words come out of his mouth, I felt so tall.  The years of wanting to please him and always coming up short and I finally did it.  Except it wasn't like I imagined.  At the time, it wasn't the cooking career, or church, or money, or anything.  He was just proud of me because I was his son.  Nothing more, nothing less.  It was good enough for me.

            So what's all this for? Maybe it's just some things I needed to get off my chest and you can do whatever you want with it.  Still, I think it's important to share.  Partly to let someone know that they should love their father.  Regardless how great of an example of they may be, or how awful.  Then, it's maybe to serve as a sign on a road nobody wants to go down at 18 and every person who may pass by here knows that though the pain is great, it's not the end of the line.  Life continued and still continues. I miss him more than words can say and I'm ok with it.  It's not debilitating, but it helps me remember and helps me to be thankful for what I have.  Thankful that I'm not alone, thankful that as trivial as it may sound to some, God really has filled those shoes and I'm more than ok with that too.