A letter to my father.

To the Strongest Man In The World

My own personal Hero,

           

            When people say the word “Father”, it evokes certain personal, immediate and strong imagery. One of the first of many of my own father happened when I was very young. I can remember him taking control of a situation in which I found myself with an injury of life threatening danger. I had discovered a way to put patio furniture into my neck. My mother found me and, a few months pregnant with my brother, hauled me inside to dad. Busy working on one project or another, he came over at once and did the most effective thing first. He prayed. I recall looking at him through tear blurred vision, he was calling out to God on behalf of his wounded son and frightened wife. His powerful presence and control of the issue at hand has always been a sculpting force in my own life, always trying to maintain calm, strength and control when others may not be able to. For this I thank you. Thank You, dad.

            There were many times when I lay sick or hurt either physically or otherwise that I recall looking up and seeing him praying. The man taught me by example the unteachable- Faith. Faith in the God who has come through for me time and time again. Belief in the God who has never let me down just as He never let my father down. For this, I thank you. Thank You, dad.

At the word “Father”, I remember, with startling clarity, playing catch with him in the front yard of our old trailer. I remember the very specific feelings of awe and wonder as this Super Human threw the ball so high in the sky that I thought for sure it would never come down, tho it did, every time. Even at this young age I loved to put on a show, and I grabbed the football, eager to impress this awesome man, and threw myself into a three-point stance. In my haste I didn’t look where I put my hand and fell prey to my first bee sting. I cried out in pain and startlement and there he was, by my side before I really knew what had happened, reacting only to the fire in my hand. He looked at my hand and found the stinger and removed it. I can still remember my tiny hands in his. He calmed me. Then he did something very curious, he looked down into the grass where I had placed my hand. (Further proof to me that he was indeed Super Human- He was so far away! How could he possibly see where that mean old bee was?) He called me over to him. I eased over that way, sniffling and distraught, peering down into the grass. I remember, even then, trying to stand like him, to emulate him. He pointed down, there lay the bee, dying. He explained to me that the bee was now sure to die now that it had lost its stinger. I marveled at his knowledge of all things. I don’t remember what we did after, but I remember him saving the day that day. And oh, so many others. For that, I thank you. Thank You, dad. To bring this reminiscence to a close and let you get on with your day, I will leave you with this-

            For every prayer you prayed, for every encouraging word, for every saved day.

I thank you.

For every time that you told me that I “could” instead of the other, I thank you.

Thank you for all the “nevers”. You never said “You can’t”. You never said “You won’t”. You never quit on me. You never walked away. You never stopped believing in me, even to this day. Thank you. Thank you so much. I love you. Happy Father’s Day.

Your Proud Son.

Jon