this is the blog where we talk about the stuff.

Dear Dad,

One of my favorite writers once said, “Important things are inevitably cliche, but no one wants to admit that.”  What I’m about to write will probably be really cliche.  Probably.  But that doesn’t make it untrue.

You’re really the best dad a girl could ask for.  I honestly had no idea until I was probably in junior high that crappy dads existed outside of the movies.  Since then, I’ve known lots of people, amazing people, who had terrible fathers (or no father at all), and I’m just so very grateful to have you.  I will never ever take it for granted.  At least, I’ll try not to.

One thing that I love about you is that you come to everything.  There’s not one major moment in my life that you didn’t show up for.  There’s probably not one minor moment in my life that you weren’t there for, also.  You used to sit on the bleachers and just watch tennis practice.  It wasn’t like you were a crazy sports dad or anything, I think you just enjoyed hanging out.  You came, you watched, and you left.  You even came to stuff that I’m almost positive you were bored at.  One act plays, musicals, whatever.  But you came.  And you never let on that you’d rather have jabbed your eyes out than see Frenship High School perform a 40 minute version of Angels in America.  So, thanks for that.

I have a couple of specific memories I’ve been thinking about all day.  The first is when I was probably in third grade, maybe a little older.  We were at Six Flags with a couple of other families.  The moms took the littler kids and went to a kiddie area, and I got to go with you and all the older kids to ride the big rides.  I was scared out of my mind, but I for sure wasn’t going to be caught dead in the stupid kiddie area at Six Flags.  We got in line for some terrifyingly named roller coaster, and all my cool began to melt away.  I started to panic as only an overdramatic third grade girl can.  There were tears.  Copious amounts of snot.  Unintelligable weep-speaking.  You were trying to reason with me, but it’s like I’ve always said: You can’t talk sense to crazy.  We were getting closer and closer to the front of the line and you kneeled down to me.  You looked me right in the eyes and this is how it went down:
Dad: Ok.  Look, the reason you came along with us is because you’re a big kid.  Right?
Me (snot flying, quavering voice): Y-y-y-yes.
Dad: Well, here’s the deal.  You don’t have to go on this roller coaster.  You don’t at all.  If you’re scared, we can go down to the bottom and wait for everyone else and it won’t be a big deal.  But I think you should go.  Because it’s going to be a lot of fun and once you finished, you’ll wish you had stayed here and gone down.  Plus, I’ll be there.  And we’ll sit together and we’ll go down together.  Ok?
Me: Ok.
Dad: So which one do you want to do?
Me: I don’t want to ride it.

In that moment, I know that you were disappointed and probably really annoyed.  But you didn’t show it at all.  You just said ok, gave me a hug, and we walked back down, past the huge line that we had waited at least half an hour in already.  We watched your friends and their kids come down and you didn’t make me feel like an idiot at all.  You didn’t make me go back to the kiddie area.  We just went to the next ride, and for the rest of the day, I rode every single one of them with you.

The other memory is, admittedly, super sappy, but again, that doesn’t negate it.  I’ll never in my whole entire life forget watching you and mom hold Holland, see Holland for the first time.  I can’t imagine what it’s like to see someone that you’ve literally known from the second they’ve been breathing air produce another branch on your family tree, but I saw it all over your faces that early morning.  It bowled me over and I’ll just plain never forget it.

I’ll never be able to adequately express just how grateful I am for you and for mom.  I’m so incredibly blessed to have been born into your family.  When you pull out all your geneaology stuff, I just marvel at how the Lord works, how he made this person marry this person and they had a baby that eventually married this person and all that mixed up and we all wound up together.  I remember fishing with you and Papa at the Fishing Hole at the Ranch.  I remember “helping” you work in the yard and being upset because you and Drew got to take your shirts off, and you told me I couldn’t, that mom said it wasn’t “ladylike.”  The list could go on and on, but we both know it all, so I won’t.

I love you dad.  I love you so much for empowering me to the point that I didn’t know that “men making women feel bad about themselves” was a thing that happened in the world.  I love you for teaching me about the Gospel, for forcing us to do family devotionals, for living it all out with your life.  I love you for teaching me what to look for in a spouse and for investing so mightily in that person.  Thanks for never telling me that girls don’t play baseball.  Thanks for letting us have dogs.  Thanks for remembering a goofy bet we made when I was in 8th grade, and paying up at the altar at my wedding. Thanks for introducing me to The Outlaw Josey Wales.  Thank you for being faithful to mom, and to our family.

Thanks for being a man, as there aren’t that many around anymore.  I’m grateful to know you.

Happy Father’s Day,
Elizabeth