About My Dad

One day my dad gave me a little pink Mary Kay jewelry box with a beautiful pink bracelet inside - it wasn't my birthday or Christmas, he gave it to me just because. I don't really remember my reaction, or really anything about the remainder of that day, but I do remember my mom coming downstairs to my room later and telling me that I needed to be more grateful, or at least show my appreciation, because my dad had thought very long and hard about what I would like before he picked that jewelry box out for me. She didn't say so, but I knew I had hurt his feelings by not acting the least bit interested in the box, and it was the first time I can remember realizing my dad was human - his feelings were capable of being hurt.

That summer at Girl's Camp they had all the girls' dads come up one night to play a game of kickball. As per usual, once my dad began attempting to coach me, I quit the game and sat in the grass, watching the other girls and their dads play. I remember wondering why I didn't have the kind of relationship with my dad that other kids had. I wondered why I always took it so personally when he critiqued me - even constructively. But even though I knew what I was doing was childish, it was a choice I had made and I was too stubborn to change my mind.
Later, I begrudgingly took a photo with him. We waited our turn, watching all the other girls and their dads wrap their arms around each other and smile big. When it was our turn, I stood there like a board, both hands at my sides and a half smile on my face. My dad crouched on the ground at my level and put one arm around my shoulder, and smiled.
The next week at church our leaders gave us each the pictures we had taken with our dads. I carried mine every day through high school, folded and tucked in the back pocket of my wallet.

As the teenage years have melted away, my adult perspective of him has become a lot clearer. Instead of being the jerk who always made me pay for everything myself, he is the father who once woke up early and filled my tank for me before school - because he knew how much it would mean to me. I learned self-sufficiency and a greater appreciation for charity. Instead of the embarrassing dork who was always trying to tell me what to do during YW basketball games, he was the dad who was trying to have something in common with his daughter. Instead of the professional lecturer who had to drive his point over and over and over again, he's to thank for the time I was actually driving the speed limit and didn't end up killing myself and the family in the white van when they pulled out in front of me.

Now that I'm a lot older, with a spouse and a child of my own, I understand why I never had the kind of relationship with my dad that everyone else seemed to have with theirs. I'm his carbon-copy. Our relationship isn't all bear hugs and kisses on the forehead - it's handwritten letters, it's notes on birthday cards, it's insignificant little gifts that carry a load of sentimental value, it's the one time I've ever seen him cry - when he told me he loved me.

Happy Father's Day, Dad. Even though I might make you wonder, I love you too.

And for the record: I still have both that pink jewelry box and that picture. 

And to my dad: Sorry if this is a little sappy :)