My earliest memories are of My Sweet Daddy. He rocked me to sleep when I was little…and even when I thought I was pretty big. Until I started school, he would rock me after lunch in a big green rocking chair as I fell asleep for my nap. He sang to me Liza Jane and I Love Little Willie are two I remember, as well as hymns. He sang I Know Whom I Have Believed when I was afraid of storms and hold me close to his chest, where I heard his heart beating and felt safe and warm.
Daddy was a history major and he taught me American History by telling me stories. All in the first person, I might add. When he taught me about George Washington, he would say “George and I.” He might say, “When Lewis and Clark and I went west to the Pacific….” I believed that My Sweet Daddy held the paper for the signers of the Declaration of Independence, walked with Johnny Appleseed planting trees, helped Davy Crockett load and re-load at the Alamo and cooked the first Thanksgiving Feast at Plymouth. I really did. Imagine my dismay when my kindergarten teacher told me that he didn’t REALLY do those things. My grief was akin to that of a child who learns that Santa doesn’t really have a sleigh that flies.
As I grew, My Daddy had not only my heart and my love, but also my respect and admiration. He is a man of God, a man of integrity and a man of principles. His word is his honor. He was often…okay he was always firm with us. But I have never once doubted that he loved me. Never have, never will.
He wrote letters to me when I left home. Every Monday for years and years. Long before the age of email and instant access, I looked forward to the mailman at the end of the week. Very few weeks went by that I didn’t have a letter from my Daddy, full of news about the family and the church. What I treasured about those letters was not necessarily the news, but the assurance that life was going on and no matter where I was…home was still there.
My Daddy has a rare intellect and is one of the smartest people I have ever known. Not only book smart, although he is that in spades, but he also possesses a common sense that is rare in our culture today. He continued to quietly encourage me as I plodded and plodded toward my college degree. What an honor it was for me at the age of 45…just a few days short of my 46th birthday, to have My Daddy and Mother (as well as my husband, both my children, my daughter-in-law and my grandsons) in the seats as they called my name and I walked across the stage to receive my Bachelors Degree. Showing my diploma to him and having him look at me and tell me how proud he was of me is one of the highlights of my adult life. My graduation honors were not quite as high as his…no adjectives before the Cum Laude, however the greatest graduation honor for me was his very evident pride.
I get up every morning with the assurance that My Sweet Daddy will pray for me, probably before the morning is through. He joyfully shares with me the good things that happen, and shares my sorrows when things don’t go so well. Recently when I had surgery, he sat by my side...day after day. We watched old westerns together. It was such a comfort to wake up and have him there close by.
Beautiful tribute to an amazing man, Molli. Thank you.
ReplyDeleteI have to say that I'm pretty grateful for that sweet dad of yours too. He has an amazing way of letting you know that you are loved, no matter what you might have done.
ReplyDeleteThanks, Teri.
ReplyDeleteAnnie, He does, doesn't he? Its a good thing, too. Most of us are in need of that sort of love from time to time!