Father's Day

Today is my first father's day without my dad.  Dad has been gone since September and so I didn't expect today to touch me in the way that it has.  Perhaps it was Father Stewart's blessing for Fathers.  As I looked around at all the fathers standing for the blessing, I couldn't help but compare them to my own dad.  I know many terrific fathers and father figures.  But as much as I admire these men, the one I called "dad" was MY dad, Bamber H. Wright.  In many ways, he wasn't especially remarkable.  He went to college, joined the military, serving in the China, Burma, India theatre during WWII,  returning home to marry my mom, going to work for and eventually runnnig Anchor Milling Company, a family owned lumber yard and feed store.

He was a Girl Scout leader (yup, girl scouts), a deacon in his church, and the president of the school board, for a time.  But, for me, and for my brothers, what really mattered was that he was our dad. And, he was a remarkable dad.   He was the one who chased away the monsters under the bed, who took us on endless "cat arounds" on too many Sunday afternoons to count, who made sure we went to and stayed in college, who loved our spouses, and adored our kids.  I never remember my dad spanking us, although my mom did on a few occasions.  I think he couldn't bear the thought of striking a child.  Child abuse and abortion were things he couldn't wrap his head around because he loved kids, kids of every age and every kid.  Every child who came into the store or who dad ran into in town or at church was greeted with a smile and a twinkle in his eye.    Kids in trouble could come to dad.  And they often did.  Cousins Bob and Ron stayed several weeks every summer with us and Dad "fathered" them all.  He didn't mind giving advice, which he often did, and his "sayings" are part of my everyday vocabulary even today.  He talked about "needing that like a hog needs Easter" and having too many "oars in the water" and being "nervous as a whore in church."  Even after he moved to Jefferson City, he knew the names, birthdays, and ages of every kid on his street and he loved giving them a silver dollar on his or her birthday.

Dad taught me so much about parenting and teaching, too.  He taught me never to give up on a kid, my own or someone else's.  He taught me about honor and respect and kindness.  Dad taught me the value of hard work and the importance of family.  No matter where I went or what I did, I knew that with a phone call I could summon his help or advice, whether I was in England shepherding students on a field course or in Lees Summit fixing a leaky faucet. There was a great comfort in that certainty, knowing that always he was there, to hold my hand when I was upset or tell a great story about this or that   After mom died, I called him every night until he moved into the nursing home.  And, I am certain that in the last  couple of years, he couldn't understand a thing I said; but, he would say "okay" and "how are the kids?" and "I am fine."We rarely talked for more than a couple of minutes, but it was enough.

Dad didn't much like modern technology, but he had a cell phone and he would carry it everywhere with him.  Even in his last few months, when he was almost completely deaf, he would open and close that phone, holding it as a kind of security I think.  I wish I had been able to teach him to text.  I think he would have loved staying in touch that way.  But, he often said he was too old to learn, although he enjoyed his email machine.  We could keep in touch that way, too, and I know he delighted in his almost daily emails from Sarah and the other occasional missives from Phil or Sue or me.

I miss you,  dad.  We're doing well and I think you'd be happy that I call Aunt Betty pretty regularly and that I sent Christmas cards to Mary Sue and Clayton.  You would love our new puppy and you would be pleased that Matt wants to become a cop and that he and Becca both made the honor roll this semester and that Sarah is almost finished with her master's.  We love you and think of you every day.  Your lessons of love live on in all of us who knew you.  Happy Father's Day, Dad.

Friendships, Work, and Summer

It's been an interesting couple of days for exploring what it means to be a friend and to have a friend.  Last night I got to spend some time with people that I don't get to see enough on a regular basis, Todd and Kathy Magwire.  I still feel so badly for what happened to Todd at O'Hara, and I often think that I didn't do enough to impact those decisions.  I knew in my gut at the time that he was a victim of an ouster campaign that had very little to do with the actual incident; but, I was ultimately powerless to make any real difference.  I often think that if I had said X or done Y, that perhaps there could have been a different outcome.  That opportunity has passed me by, but it has made me more aware of those other opportunities that I should speak out and stand up.

I so admire the way in which Kathy stuck by and for him.  And, I hope that he is right in his conviction that God has led him to a different place for His own reasons.  I have been having my own challenges of faith and I admire people who can stick to a conviction even in the face of difficulty.  Last night, too, I learned more about another friend.  I knew she was a woman of deep faith and conviction; but, I hadn't heard her express it with quite so much conviction before.  I, too, believe that faith in God and faith in the church are two different kinds of faith.  Since humans make up the church, it is reasonable that they make flawed and sometimes hurtful decisions.  It's hard to distinguish sometimes between the two...but, as I listened to Mary, I found hope and heart.  Thanks, Mary.

And, I learned more about friendship and mothering today.  Someone made a comment about my son, a hurtful, mean-spirited comment.  And that someone passed the comment along to him.  It's just a comment, but what we say and how we say it always makes a difference.  I think really that mean spiritedness is never random or unintentional; it always hurts, even when said in the heat of a moment.  And, so, I have always urged my kids and my students to think before they say something that they can really never take back.

Words matter.  The way we speak and what we say makes a difference.  Words can heal and they can hurt.  Pay attention to what you say and how you say it.  I know that I will be more conscious of my words, reflecting on the lessons of these last couple of days.  Thanks, friends, for teaching me what it means to be a real friend...once again...and for valuable lessons that I still need to be reminded of.