Remembering a dad who knew the important things

For the first time in  forty or more years, I am posting about my dad on Father's Day.. I am almost 70. He died when I was 19. He was a good father. For so much of my life he has seemed the distant past.

He was rational in his conversations to me in my teens. His own parents thought fairy tales were silly so he loved reading them to me when I was small because he didn't know how the stories came out, either. And since they were read for his only surviving child of three, he hoped with all his heart they had a happy ending.

He couldn't help himself, thank God. He taught me a little about banking and finance. In many ways, he was a feminist. But. He still expected some man to take care of me.

He had no siblings. My mother had an unmarried brother. No big congregations in our house of family, any time.

I do have cousins, both sides, which for some reason my parents seldom saw and I saw infrequently enough that I am unclear exactly who they were. My granddaughters have a lot of family through their mother. Their paternal grandfather has a lot of family. My own personal family is discrete. Two sons, daughter-in-law and granddaughters.

They are well loved.

Because my dad made sure that was one of the skills he taught me.

I was so lucky.

By the time I was 12, I pretty much knew what I wanted to do

Well, I got sidetracked. That turned out to be a good thing.

In high school, journalism was my thing. I worked on the hometown paper two summers. I started volunteering stories about high school activities when I was 17, a senior.

I didn't live in a Metroplex. The high school was all we had in many miles in many directions. I was paid $1 an hour. My dad was irritated because the federal minimum wage by then was $1.10. I begged him to leave it alone, and he did. It didn't improve his languishing friendship with the editor.

I was naïve in spades. I was gullible. But somehow, I also was curious, intelligent and a good writer. So the paper kept me, taught me, let me write. Looking back, probably more because of my dad than me. But we did get new readers from what I wrote. Eh.

In 19

When the River Isn't Smooth

Maybe one reason I love to sing is the harmony we create. I love it.

Today I had conversation and bit my tongue again and again, and still contributed to noise. Not so loud, but unpleasant. And I was the dissonance. And I could shut up, but I couldn't come back into harmony.

I was not a good luncheon guest today.

I knew what I should do, but didn't. At the time, it seemed I couldn't.

Ever have a day like that?

No, I'm not giving myself an "everyone does it" pass.

For one, not everyone is disagreeable as I have been today. And if they were, not everyone cared they were doing it. I do and did care, and I'm sorry.

I just think I have much company in conversations many of us wish had gone differently with a friend, someone we loved. But it didn't. Because of us and what we said or didn't.

The good news is, tomorrow is another day, and we get to start over.

I have already apologized to the two friends I felt I shorted. They ended up appreciating the calls, much as they both tried to say at the outset they hadn't noticed.

Civilization is a wonderful thing, when joined with the heart.

When life is easy for all of us, and we SMILE!

Hee-hee-hee!

I am such a softie.

One granddaughter is with her other grandmother for a week and will come back with new recipes I will benefit from.

The other is on her five-day mission trip.

My eldest son and wife have arduous work schedules, but may actually have time to talk this week....

My plants are growing, I have friends to see and books to read.

It's summertime, and the living is

EASY!

When I started college as a freshman, I had lived in one place all my life. I had never been anywhere else. But I hS MWR PWOPLW XOMINF IN DEOM ll ovcr the world.


So I wasn't too scared when I set off to college at least a day's drive away, knowing only one other person, and she, briefly.

Honor, Love and Pass the Tortillas. Doughnut? oh, yeah.

For the last several years, until this spring, I weekly visited an old woman that was active in our church. Her mind hadn't given out, but her knees had, and she was in a nursing facility.

She was always upbeat. Took her a while to accept that why-ever the hell I was visiting every week, I was going to keep coming and she might as well get to know me. So she did. We had a lot of mutual interests. A stroke years ago had robbed her of much talk, but what she did say, mattered.

The town we both have lived in was really tiny 56 years ago, when she and her two sidekicks decided to hold the first graduating senior breakfast in what was then an aging church. There were three graduates. One was her daughter. And after the daughter graduated, the three women decided it was a good tradition, so they kept doing it. The graduating classes grew in size, but for a long time, slowly.

Don't know what the early menu included other than scrambles, I think sausage, fruit and some kind of bread, coffee cake or doughnuts. For a while, I understand, it went to a continental breakfast. Naw, we've been back to the good stuff for awhile.


Lawanda died at 89 this spring, happy that we have continued her tradition.

Today for the 56th time, members of this church served the senior breakfast, this time for 115 kids. One hundred came. We used 24 dozen free-range chicken eggs donated by members with home-grown chickens. Served warm flour tortillas, sausage, salsa, jalapenos, shredded cheese and sour cream, 8 dozen glazed doughnuts (half were donated),Subway cookies, fresh fruit salad, and coffee, orange juice or water.

Merchants donated some good stuff, everything from restaurant coupons and oil changes to hard cash. The kids were really pleased. Many dressed up. It's kind of a hassle, but we use linen tablecloths and the food is good, and they preview the senior video. We had a one-minute blessing and no more than a 10-minute inspirational message. Hey. We ARE a church. Just not a very pushy one.

Many of these kids live in this community not only with their parents, but their grandparents, all who have remembered coming to this church for breakfast just before graduation. It's a community tradition. It doesn't take long, and the food is good.

I woke up at 5 am--some woke at 4am-- others came last night for hours, and we got the meal ready. All volunteers, any one of us could have caved.

But the tradition is so sweet.

This is a little Texas town where long ago, parents decided to honor their children, of whom they were most proud. Through all the years, the reason, the love, the sentiments, haven't changed.

It's a nice celebration.

I hope, through the years, many may remember this and smile. It was, after all, all about them today.