A Tribute

    I would ask for a few minutes of your time today to introduce you to my father. Now, many of you know  this man, but I want to introduce you to the side of him that I know. This is the man who, when he was left with a 7 year old little girl, taught her to believe in the power of her own imagination by introducing her to Mr Longanecker....a giraffe that would only visit rooms that were clean and preferred to eat dried fruit and nuts from small dishes left by the door. This is the man who would allow me to listen to my favorite radio dramas by the hour while running errands without a word of complaint and in return had me listen to his talk shows (which I equal parts tuned out and complained about). This is the man that I want to give you a glimpse of today.
    My earliest memories of my father are crystal clear. I would wait impatiently for him to come home and then go out to his van and escort him to the house, demanding the honor of carrying his water jug. I am still convinced that no water tastes quite as good as that slightly warm water that smelled of wallpaper paste and aftershave. This is a tradition that I continued well into my teen years.
     He taught me the power of words and anytime I sit down to read one of the many books he read to me (Singing Wheels, Princess and Curdie, Narnia, and Derwood Inc to name just a few) I can still remember exactly where we were and I can hear his voice in my head. My age or school year had little to do with the books he chose to read to me or the books he chose for me to read. He didn't even mind when I asked him to go back and reread our favorite parts again and again (the restaurant fight scene in How Sleep the Brave for one). Not only did he require me to read profusely, he always wanted me to summarize everything (and I do mean everything!). I learned quickly to read for understanding and to be able to tell "in my own words" what I had just read. He even encouraged me to read aloud to him...a process I'm sure was tedious for him, though he never complained.
    I learned early the value of hard work and the benefits of working first and playing later. I  accompanied him to hundreds of job sites and I spent half of my time chatting with customers and half of it curled up reading in the corner of the room. But on many occasions, he would teach me the skill it took to remove wallpaper, completely smooth a wall, paste a strip of wallpaper and hang it neatly on the wall. And then the covering of the switch-plates. I don't know what you know about wallpaper-hanging, but if you know my father at all, you know that precision is his middle name. To cover a switch-plate properly, the piece of wallpaper needed to fit identically to its surroundings. Yes, there were many times I would cut giant pieces out of the paper instead of taking the time to make sure it was perfect. And my dad would either patiently have me redo it or he would allow me to go back to my book and he would do it himself. Either way, he taught me about the love and patience it takes to bring a 10 year old to work with you.
    He encouraged me to ask as many questions as I could and, while others frequently got annoyed with my inquisitive self, he never showed signs of irritation over my million and one questions. Many of my old notebooks have scribbled questions and his handwriting patiently answering my question in the middle of some public event. He asked me questions, demanding that I think through my answers and respond intelligently. He listened and encouraged my ramblings and debates (though the day that I mentioned our 13th president "Mallard Filbert" I think he laughed for ten minutes straight).
    He didn't believe a child's age should exclude them from a more complicated conversation. Quite the opposite, in fact. I was never allowed to leave the supper table until the conversation was over. And coming from a talkative family with five older brothers in their teens at the time, this was not a small wait. Many times I would sit and color and listen to the discussions of religion or politics. When I was young, my opinion was not always asked for, but if I were to offer it he listened with respect and had my brothers do the same. In this way, he taught me to formulate my thoughts and opinions and to be able to defend myself if needed.
    He taught me the value of art, history, architecture, antiques, and the outdoors. The other day I described a color as "Williamsburg Blue", a direct result of my childhood spent exploring historic landmarks and admiring various homes. Every family vacation was either to some sort of historic place or involved at least one trip to a history or science museum. I can't say I appreciated it at the time, but I am very thankful now how he spent the time teaching me to respect my country and the awesome things it has to offer. I hope to someday have at least half of his eye for the beauty in old homes, bottles, decorating, and glassware.
    He wasn't afraid to be silly or crazy. Random dance parties, silly voices while reading, singing 'Jingle Bell Rock' loudly in our kitchen, or leaping over chairs were not unusual. I remember one vacation where I had the hiccups; his attempt at scaring them out of me failed miserably, but left us both laughing hysterically. He taught me it was okay to go against the flow, to do your own thing, and occasionally sing loudly in public!
    When I was 20, I was preparing to head to Arkansas into my new adventure. The one thing that I couldn't figure out was my dad's apparent lack of "freaking out". I have always been his "baby" (on my 15th birthday he introduced me as such) and I couldn't understand why he wasn't making more of a fuss about me moving almost 1200 miles away. The words he said to me then are the best thing anyone has ever said to me: "When you were a young teenager (12-15), you wanted to be a dog breeder. This was not a popular career choice and many people tried to dissuade you. However, you stuck with it until you decided it wasn't what you wanted to do anymore. In that same way, I know that this is what you think you are called to do with your life and I am not going to stand in your way."
    I know this has taken up more than a moment of your time and I have barely even begun to share the wisdom and memories of my father with you.This September will bring 25 years of having the honor of calling this man my daddy (or "oh my father and oh the delight of my eyes" depending on the occasion!). Today is his birthday and I would ask that you would honor him by going to his Facebook wall or calling him or texting him or emailing him and wishing him a happy birthday.
    Happy Birthday Daddy. I love you.
Love,
Your baby girl