Remembering “Dad”
Tomorrow is Father’s Day, a day we set aside once a year to think of Dad. Some fathers are invisible. They were there at the point of conception only. Some are “dead-beat” Dads who have to be forced by the courts to pay support. Some are drunks, or wife-beaters, or cheats. If you have a Dad who is honest, hard-working, and loving, then you are blessed, indeed.
I was lucky to have a decent, God-fearing father. In spite of being preoccupied with work, most of the time, he took time to talk about the “important things” of life with me, his youngest daughter. Important to him were his faith, the meaning of life, and values. When I realize how long my mother lived … into her 90s, I feel robbed that he only made it to age 63. I was 23.
He was generous. After he died, I saw all the many canceled checks for money he had sent to a missionary in Nigeria, a tidy sum. The thought makes me realize that one is not rich because he/she hoards money, but rather because of how much he/she shares. Dad had reached out to provide assistance to people in another part of the world. No one knew. He didn’t do it to brag or to show off. During his life, even my mother did not know of those gifts.
Dad took the time to play Badminton with me, he took me ice skating, and he brought me to July 4 concerts, at the park. We went to the Museum of Science in Boston, to “Boston Pops” concerts, and on the Swan Boat rides in Boston. We went to the Museum of Fine Arts. We were buddies. He bought me horses, and told me to become a teacher (I did) because the training would always stand me in good stead (it has).
Dad read a million books, but the most important one to him was the Bible. He encouraged me to open up a checking account in the Credit Union he organized and in which I saved babysitting money. He wrote me funny letters when I was studying in Spain. I’ve saved them and they are among my favorite family items.
Dad served in many roles and was an active leader in civic and religious organizations. To me, he was “Dad.” He loved Strawberry Shortcake and, twice, he ordered two servings of that dessert, in a restaurant. He enjoyed eating peanuts, by the handful. He liked camping in Freeport, Maine at a site overlooking the ocean.
I like to remember the good times. The bad times were tough to endure when they arrived. So, I’ll linger over the thought of him teaching me to drive in his 1938 Pickup with a standard shift that he named “The Green Hornet” because it was green, (of course!). He would admonish me, every two minutes: “Don’t strip the gears!” Dad and I were a pair, fashioned from the same cloth in many ways. If he were still living, he would be 97 years old. He’d be so proud of his grandson (my son) whom he never met, and his other grandchildren and now, their children.
Life continues in a whirling dervish of activity, but for a moment, on Father’s Day, those of us whose fathers are no longer here will take a deep breath and wipe a tear, as we remember.
Patricia Cummings
