Father's Day

The most confusing day in Lumpkin County is upon us:  Father's Day.

But seriously, I love any day that Hallmark decides needs another card.  Primarily because I really enjoy Hoops and Yo-Yo cards.

I am blessed to have had a wonderful father and to have had three wonderful children.

I just wish Daddy would have been around to see his grandkids.  They wonder what he would have been like around them;  I know.

He would have loved them unconditionally, like he loved me.  Daddy was a great judge of character;  soon after he died I looked in his Bible and found a note from the last time he was in Sunday School.  Apparently the teacher had asked what kind of person you liked.  Daddy wrote on a small slip of paper "I like somebody who's the same every time I see them."  Me too, Daddy.

He would have told them stories, mostly true, sometimes embellished, often funny, but always with a point.

Daddy and Uncle Johnny (his brother, whom my children also missed the blessing of knowing) were going from Dahlonega to Gainesville in a '32 Ford Coupe when they were teenagers.  Daddy fell asleep, and at some point Uncle Johnny lost control of the car, flipped it several times into an open field where it landed upright on all four tires.  Uncle Johnny said that after they came to a stop, Daddy looked up and asked "Why did we stop here?"

He would have made sure they knew to put their hand over their heart when the American flag went by in a parade.  I was standing next to him at a parade in Barnesville one time, and when the flag went past I noticed he had his hand over his heart, but I didn't.  I never made that mistake again.  It cost him and his generation too much for me not to show respect.

It was in that same parade that Daddy noticed the man leading the parade, our Fire Chief.  Now I didn't hear Daddy say much bad about anyone, but he had the gift (and curse) of timely sarcasm.  As the Chief rode by on his black stallion, he and the horse each decked out in black attire with silver studs and such, Daddy said "Look, son, you don't see that very often."

"What's that, Daddy?"

"Two assholes on one horse."

He would have withered a lot of people I've met since that day.

Daddy would have held my babies, spoiled them and left their Mama and me to clean up the mess, taken them fishing and to parades and movies and who knows what else.  And I would have let him.

Not because I loved him so, but because he loved them so.

I miss them not knowing him.  I miss him not knowing them.

But mostly I just miss him.

I love you, Daddy. Still.