Happy Father’s Day Daddy

My stepfather was a very special man. He is the only father I’ve ever really known, so from this point on I will refer to him here, as I did growing up as my father – "Daddy”.

I didn’t really realize what a special man he was when I was growing up. Like most kids, I only focused on every shortcoming I could possibly identify -- and I kept the list nearby at all times.

There were times he irritated me so much I just wanted him to go away. I can’t even articulate what about him irritated me. If anything, it was probably me just wanting to dislike him as some kind of crazy defense mechanism. After all, he was my sister’s father, and not truly mine. I’ve always been very protective of my heart (even as a child) so I guess I just thought disliking him was safer than openly loving him. Crazy, huh?

Now I remember and appreciate the fact that he really was a funny, loving, generous, caring man who loved my two sisters and me unconditionally and equally. He was Daddy.

My regret (as is often the case) is that I did not get over myself enough to tell him how I felt about him until he was on his death bed. He was literally lying there with only hours left when I finally told him how much I loved him and appreciated him. How I praise God for that opportunity and I am thankful that Daddy heard, understood and acknowledged it.

He did things for us that probably sound minor but really meant a lot. We rode the public bus to junior high and high school, but if it was raining -- 9 times out of 10 Daddy was out front waiting to take us home when school dismissed. Instead of appreciating the ride, my thoughts were, “I sure hope my friends don’t see me getting in the Sanford and Son pickup truck.”

Daddy taught me to drive but instead of appreciating him taking the time, I got annoyed with him for falling asleep while I was at the wheel. He had narcolepsy – a horrible case of it I might add. He’d fall asleep in mid-sentence, in the middle of dinner, driving – you name it and he fell asleep doing it.

Daddy gave us our allowance. I should have appreciated that because I don’t think my mother would have given us an allowance. But it drove me crazy that I started with $14 a week in 9th grade and I was still getting $14 a week in 12th grade. Now I know that $14 was better than no dollars but back then I refused to let it go.

Daddy was very even-tempered and everyone loved him. My mother was the opposite. So in a household of much cussin’ and fussin’ (by my mother) – I should have welcomed his peaceful demeanor.

Daddy took me on my first trip out of the state. We drove to Louisiana. For me, that was the longest, most boring ride and I think my sister and I complained all the way there and all the way home. Sure, I was only 12 but I should have or could have appreciated the vacation.

I could actually go on for quite a while, now that I think about it. Of course he had his faults but he was a good man. He was a good father. And he did whatever he had to do to provide for our family so that my mother would not have to work.

So as my thoughts drift to Sunday, I can say “Happy Father’s Day Daddy” with many cherished memories in mind.