From June 18, 2006:
It’s early on a Sunday morning. I woke up about a half hour ago, remembering that I needed to prepare a couple of half-sheet handouts for the Small Group board at church this morning. Our little girl woke up and came down stairs as I was printing – “Daddy, you need to go back to bed. We’ve got to make you breakfast”. What joy… what fear & trepidation.
When I think of being a Dad on Father’s Day, I can remember growing up with my Dad, trusting that he was doing his best, making the best choices he could, hoping that I would live up to some standard as I got older with a family of my own. He disciplined, and made sure I went back into the kitchen to clean up the spots I missed (dang it!!) – but he also spent time with us as growing boys, something missing from most of the kids’ homes in the neighborhood. My dad worked third shift for a long time, and that meant in the summer that he’d be coming home around 7:30am or so. We could get up and be quiet ’til about lunchtime, and then he’d get up and play games with us inside or get us started on outside stuff. No one else had their parent’s at home during the day – this was before the home-school boom for the most part, when “latch-key kid” was becoming a demographic of its own. How much junk did we avoid because of Dad’s “intervention” in our day-to-day stuff?
Anyway, just wanted to jot a couple of thoughts of appreciation for our Dad. My brother and I have much for which to be thankful, and we both can keep the ball rolling with what he has given already. Thanks, Dad!