Silly Ol' Dad

Ah, the Father's Day post. But where, oh where to start?

I could tell you how funny my daddy is. How he has the best Chicken Dance I've ever seen, yet sadly, the general populace will never see it for he insists, rather forcefully, of being so incongruously normal in public. Thankfully, the rest of us make up for it. I could tell you all about his "late-night-mania" that strikes every night at eleven and finds him laughing uproariously at just about everything. I will pay you a thousand dollars if you can get him to say "feckless shoehorn" late at night with a straight face. I could tell you about the time he tried to convince my potty-training-reluctant brother that underpants were cool by putting them on his head and running around the house as "Underwear Man."

I could tell you all that, but that's not all that Dad is.

I could tell you how kind my dad is. I could tell you how he'll drop anything to help a friend. I could tell you about the time he lent the family car to a single mom until she could get back on her feet. I could tell you about the million chairs he's set up at the thousand church functions he's attended. I could tell you about all the little gifts he would bring home from his business trips through the years: books and dolls and cookies and such.

I could tell you all that, but that's not all Dad is.

What if I told you about how good Dad is? Would you really know who he is if I told you about how faithfully he's held callings over the years? How he loves everyone he serves with, how he wants--really, really wants--to help others be happy and to try harder, how faithfully he honors his priesthood. I could tell you about the year he was my early-morning seminary teacher and how he would gently urge all the sleepy-eyed, belligerent teenagers to a better understanding of the gospel. Would you really know him then?


Well, what if I told you how strong he is? I could tell you how much he strives to protect his family. I could tell you about the long hours he's spent working on his Master's degree, just to be a better provider to his little (and big) ones. I could tell you about how he was at my brother's funeral--Mom was a mess and us kids were in shock--and there he was: so strong, even when you knew he just wanted to break down. But he didn't. He didn't. But that's not quite all he is.

I could tell you how manly he is. How he loves cars and can fix practically anything. How he can make a steak that just melts on your tongue. Melts, people! How he's just a guys-guy, but retains such chivalrous manners. Oh, such a gentleman! Opening doors and the whole bit. (Are you starting to see how he's ruined me for all other men? I mean, how could they even compete with this guy?)


Oh, what about how comforting he is? I could tell you about the time I called him in tears after a hard breakup and he sounded like he would rip that guy in two if I only asked. (And I still believe he would have.) I could relate what kind of Driver's Ed coach he was for me. How, when I would get frustrated or overwhelmed, he would just say softly, "You got this, girl." Would you know him if you knew I still hear his voice when I'm upset saying, "You got this, girl"?

Do you have an idea of who he is yet? I don't know if I've even done him justice.

What if I told him about the time I flew down to my parents' home after living in Utah for several months, only to find he was away on business? How I sat on the couch brimming with the most inconsolable misery? Or another time I flew out to visit and he met me at the airport with flowers--I just flew into his arms and whispered, "Oh, daddy, I'm so happy to be home!" But I really meant, "I'm so happy to be with you. Oh, how I've missed you!"


And, no matter where I go or who I become, he will always be my daddy and I will always be his girl. I love him. I always, always will.