Some Thoughts on this Father's Day

Today is Father's Day, so naturally my thoughts turn to my father, to my sons, and to all men who are blessed enough to be a dad. My father died about 8 years ago. He and I didn't always have the closest relationship, but I don't believe that's completely the fault of either one of us. We were just very different in many ways so conversation could be difficult. We didn't argue a lot, if ever; we just had less and less in common the older we got. But that doesn't mean he didn't influence me deeply and teach me a great deal. Much of the success I've had in church work, particularly in being able to relate to people, comes from watching my father. He was a career funeral director, and he was darn good at it. He had a calming presence about him, and could provide comfort and calm to people who were experiencing some of the worst days of their lives. He knew when to listen, when to offer encouragement, and when to lighten the mood with a funny story. It was his life's work and he loved it. Although he was physically unable to work in a funeral home in his final years, he kept his license current. In perhaps the most fitting twist of fate in his story, his funeral director's license expired the very day we laid him to rest.

As I said earlier, he taught me a great deal. Although some of the lessons I learned from watching him were lessons about what NOT to do, there was a world of lessons that I followed that have made my life better: marry a woman who is much smarter than you; life is much richer with music you enjoy and a good laugh; and perhaps the most important one, everyone deserves dignity and respect.

I remember many stories about my father. Some are frustrating, some are hilarious, many are about things that he said that were accidentally profound. But this is my favorite one. I was about 8-years-old, and had recently gotten the first puppy that was "mine". He was my dog - a little schnauzer I had named Sherlock. I was outside playing with him when a car passed by and Sherlock chased it. I tried running after him, but both car and dog were much faster than me. We lived right behind the funeral home where Dad worked, and the funeral home fronted the main street of our town. Sherlock ran into that street and was run over by a car. I saw the entire thing, and 47 years later remember every detail. I was traumatized. I ran into the funeral home just sobbing uncontrollably. I was looking for my dad. Someone found him, and between sobs I was able to tell him what happened. He sent me home, and it wasn't long before I saw him walking home with the body of my dog, and he himself was weeping. At the time I thought it was because he was as sad as I was about the dog. Oh, how years and circumstances bring clarity! Having had my own children, I now know exactly why he was crying. Suddenly childhood's protective shield around his son was gone. His son had learned that life can be suddenly tragic. That heartbreak is real. That things die no matter how much we love them and try to keep death away. And worst of all, there is absolutely nothing a father can do to change that. I never admired my father more than I did on that day. I admire him more for it as years go by, as my children grow older, and I know that life will give them a painful gutpunch, and all I can do is love them and mourn my own inability to make things different for them.

As fathers, we all hope that we can leave something that our children will remember us fondly for - something beyond memories of the times we fell in the pool or lost our keys or any number of any foibles. My father taught me that the best thing you can leave your children is the knowledge that you love them, that you feel their pain almost as deeply as they do, and that everything you do for them is the absolute best you can do with the limited experience and knowledge you have.