Happy Father’s Day, Dad. Far too often, I took all that you have done for granted. In my defense, you made that easy. There were no theatrics. You never wanted credit or recognition. You never stood up and said, “Hey, look at all that I do!” You just did what you needed to.
But I was thinking about you this morning and about how hard you always worked to provide for us; sometimes holding two and three jobs at a time.
There were times when we didn’t have much, but you made sure we always had enough.
I don’t remember you ever taking a sick day or staying in bed because you felt like it. I do remember you going to work when you suffered with colds, illnesses, and when arthritis racked your body with pain.
Thank you for always taking the time to simply be with us. We weren’t constantly doing something amazing, but togetherness was important.
Our family time might have consisted of something as simple as being twirled in the yard at the end of your long arms or sitting on your lap with a bowl of popcorn as we watched the Three Stooges on TV.
But you were always there.
Thank you for encouraging us to get our chores done quickly on a Saturday so we could go and do something fun, and for coming home from a long day and calling out, “Who wants to get away for the weekend?!”
Thank you for the camping trips we took to the lake in an old school bus. You must have had nerves of steel and a mountain of faith to get that old thing up Dodge Hill, but you did it.
Thank you for teaching us to swim, to ride a bike and to pray.
I remember walking alongside you and trying to match your stride. I needed to take three steps to match your one, but you walked slowly and held my hand, making me feel safe and loved.
I remember when I had to look up so high to see you and how often you would bend down to kiss me on the head.
You have always been such a strong man, but you have never hesitated to be affectionate and caring. You never thought twice about telling us that you loved us. We always felt our safest when we were with you. You were the best with bandaging our wounds, removing slivers from our hands, and helping our broken hearts to heal.
Teaching me to drive could not have been easy, but you remained patient and stoic in the passenger seat as I sat through green lights, took square corners and checked the curbs.
You remained silent until we finally came to our resting point, but I will never forget the time you fell to your knees and kissed the ground, thanking God we had arrived safely.
I am quite certain we were in church 90 percent of our childhood. Sunday mornings, evenings, Wednesday night Bible studies and if an evangelist was coming through, we knew we were going to have us a revival three more nights that week.
Serving God was a top priority and when I chose to join my husband and worship as a Catholic, you could have protested. Instead, on the day you realized I had decided to join another way of worship, you simply kissed me on the head and told me that you loved me.
Thank you for being such a good grandfather to our children. For spending long hours with us in the hospital and holding them when they were sick.
We will always cherish the way you dressed up as Santa every Christmas and reassured our boys they would receive more than coal in their stockings.
Thank you, Dad, for standing strong by my side when I needed you the most. For placing yourself between me and anything that would harm me either emotionally or physically.
Thank you for guiding us, directing us and when it came time, for making us stand on our own two feet and then celebrating the joys our lives have brought us. You have been the best Dad that we could ever ask for.
Happy Father’s Day. Lori Clinch is the mother of four sons and the author of the book “Are We There Yet?” You can reach her by sending an email to [email protected].