My
Dad
If I speak with the
tongues of men and angels, but have not love, I am a resounding gong or a
clanging cymbal. If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries
and all knowledge, and if I have faith to move mountains, but have not love, I
am nothing. If I give all I possess to the poor and surrender my body to the
flames, but have not love, I gain nothing.
I Corinthians 13
As we were waiting for the ambulance to
pick up my dad on November 26, 2008, my mom turned to me in utter desperation
and exclaimed “I’m running out of time with him!” As a happily divorced woman,
I remember feeling slightly jealous and a little cheated at the idea that 60
years just wasn’t enough time to be with a husband. I also knew that God had a
lesson in this for me, probably something about love being worth the risk.
A week later, I was once again completely
frustrated with my dad. I got that way a lot. This time, though, he had
stubbornly refused to go to rehab for the second time in as many weeks. He was
being completely illogical and going against doctor’s orders. I was so hurt
that he would defiantly choose to hurt himself by doing the wrong thing. Too,
Mom didn’t need all the responsibility of trying to take care of him, couldn’t
he think about her for a minute?
He had provided the lamest excuses for
not wanting to go to the rehab facility, and I had figured out that he was just afraid it was going to be a
nursing home and would never come out. But see, I have a psych degree and I’ve
had lots of counseling and know that you just have to name your fears to start
to overcome them, so I wanted to help so he could do the right thing! I mean, let’s face it; the right thing is often
contrary to what my dad did. His theme song was “My Way,” for pity sakes, so I
carefully planned what I was going to say and went over to see him.
It took some conversation, but he
finally got around to a sweet, beautiful truth. With some exasperation, he
said, “Don’t you get it? I’d rather spend two weeks home with your mother than
four or six weeks somewhere else without her.” And God let me see, once again,
that sometimes there is more than one “right.”
One of my earliest memories of my dad
is playing “Pickle” with my brother and me in the early evenings as my mom
prepared dinner. He rarely said no to his family about any want, in fact, my
mother got in the habit of not mentioning interest in things because John D.
would move Heaven and Earth to get them for her. Then there was the infamous
shopping trip the year I was 11, when Dad took me to Jacobson’s and purchased a
fabulous summer wardrobe for me, spending all of the money Mom had allocated
for his birthday present. She was mad, of course, but he just smiled and said,
“Hey, I spent it the way I wanted to!” Whatever we wanted, he made sure we got,
even if it wasn’t necessary or fiscally responsible. Contrary to his own
upbringing, he encouraged my brother’s participation in football. I don’t think
he ever missed a game – not a single one. He also made sure to hug and kiss us,
always.
Another of my lifelong memories is
people telling me how cute my parents are. It began almost as soon as I started
going places without them, which in retrospect was pretty early. From the time
I was six, my brother and I spent our summers in the small town were my parents
met and married. Every year someone in town would relate the story of how my
dad would take a rose from his dad’s “prize” bushes and put it on the seat of
my mom’s family car when he knew she was in town. I would also usually hear
stories of how my dad exasperated his mom, much to the delight of, well,
everyone in town. Did I mention that this was a really small town? There was
always a sweet story that people freely shared about my parents.
When I was a teenager I started
hearing how great my parents were when I’d stop at Forest Hills Foods (I think
it was Shoprite then) or Reilly’s Drugs. I was always so proud to hear people
say “Your parents were just here, they are so cute!” Even now, when Dad was in
the hospital over Thanksgiving, I was in the room when his nurse told my
parents that she loved how sweet they were to each other, and how she wished
she could just stay and spend time with them.
One of Dad’s nephews became close with
my parents when he was grown with a family of his own. He and his wife were touched by the
partnership they saw in John D. and Patsy, their warmth for each other and
their profound commitment. Their children also have wonderful memories of times
with my parents, while they never really knew their own grandparents. Patsy
& John D. even drove to Missouri to attend their eldest son’s college
graduation – which blew the kid away! This is just one example of the love my
dad freely gave to others.
My dad did things his way. His mom
wouldn’t pay for college if he were married, and he wanted to marry my mom, so
he refused to go to medical school. He wouldn’t take a traveling job that would
have made lot more money because he thought it was important to be around for
his children. He told his company he wouldn’t take a promotion that would mean
a move because his kids were in high school and moving at that age could be
damaging. He did his very best to put his family first. For most of his life,
money existed to be spent, and he stubbornly spent a lot more than he had, especially
if he was buying things for his family.
You know, the Bible doesn’t talk about
having a “paid for” house, or a large retirement account. But there’s a whole
chapter devoted to love, and my brother and I know what love is because of our
dad. I have to say, I think my dad got that right.
