Sunday, June 20, 2010

Remembering Dad

I remember:

Going through the rabbit hole: those long legs would cross and form the rabbit hole.

Sitting in church with Dad stroking my hair or my arm.

Sunday afternoon drives to look at land.

Riding horses together, even though he was too big for the saddle.

Playing tennis – even though he was terrible at tennis.

Going to look at cars: Jaguars, MG’s, etc. before finally settling down to the sensible choice.

How he always changed the belts and hoses on the car before I went back to school.

Many ways in which he made sure that we were taken care of.

His love of his roses: had a whole garden of them out in front of the Windsor Park house.

Even though Dad died last year in February, we only just put his ashes out at the DFW Memorial Cemetery last month. They now rest in one of the Columbaria. On the marker, instead of an endearment, I put a biblical quote: Joel 2:28 Then afterward I will pour out my spirit on all flesh; your sons and your daughters shall prophesy, your old men shall dream dreams, and your young men shall see visions.

It seemed an appropriate tribute to him, because my dad was a dreamer who looked to the future. A quote: “Most real estate salesmen fail because they cannot see far enough into the future. . . . I would go so far as to say that the job with the greatest unknown future has the greatest possibilities.”

When Dad looked at a piece of land he could see hotels, malls, homes. An example of how he dreamed for the church: He started buying the homes next to University Park UMC 30 years ago so that one day they could expand and just recently they began to see the fulfillment of that dream.

His dreams didn’t always come true, but he appreciated and encouraged them in others.

Dad told me that I should do what I loved, that I should follow my dreams; not what was practical or what was the best paying. I attribute my ability to see the best in people and to dream of what could be instead of always focusing on what is, to my dad’s influence.


I remember that my dad was great with little kids. He didn’t know as well how to deal with older kids, but babies he was great with; he could change diapers, give baths, keep them entertained.

He was completely supportive of my ministry. When I was appointed to my first charge, 90 miles from my house in Mesquite, he insisted on driving with me to Windom every week. When Christopher was born, he took care of the kids while I preached and visited with people.

I know that some people have a dad that is withdrawn or unemotional, and my dad may have seemed that way to others. But Dad was my nurturer. One moment that stands out: I was in my bed late at night, crying over the death of my little sister Nancy. Dad came in and said quietly something I will never forget: “I thought I was the one who would miss her the most.” Then he just stroked my arm and sat with me as we shared pain and healing.

Dad was not himself the last 7-8 years of his life because of a stroke. I miss the dad that I knew before that. But in some ways I feel that I have my real father back. I know that he is healed and whole and that he loves me still.
Happy father’s day, Daddy. I love you.