I’ve got to tell you about a very cool event last weekend. I swear there was not a dry eye in the place – or in this case, in the oak grove.
So, I’ve got two boys, ages 8 & 9 ½. They’re in an Indian Guide tribe through the local YMCA. In fact, my older son, Will, and I started the mighty Santaluz Tribe and recruited a couple dozen dads and boys – mostly age 5. We go camping several times per year, and teach the boys outdoor skills, adventure, and virtues, while fostering the father/son relationship. In fact, the motto is “Pals forever with my Dad.”
Last weekend, the first group of boys who started as a bunch of little squeakers 4 years ago and are now pushing ten, had their “bouncing-out”. As the founding chief, I prepared a really meaningful ceremony in which each of 8 bouncing boys, and 3 bouncing dads were graduated. Each boy received a coon-skin cap, all decorated with feathers and beads – really a very cool hat! And, just to break the seriousness, each dad was given a silly party hat. As the current Chief and I went down the line of shirtless boys & dads, we applied face/body paint to each, mentioned a couple of attributes of each boy, and gave him a charge. One boy’s attributes included a love of nature, and I charged him to be a keeper of nature and animals. Another has a zest for life, and I charged him to spread that zest to others. As you can imagine, with all the other boys, dads, and moms in the audience – and about 20 cameras trained on us – everyone got quite emotional when the founding chief spoke of their kid’s strengths, and charged him going forward.
As the emotion built up inside me, graduating each of these boys with whom I’d shared so much over four years, I saved my Will for last. Big mistake. All the emotion welled to the top, and I found myself unable to speak. Did I mention about 20 cameras? My son’s attributes included being very intuitive, and I charged him to use his intuitiveness to serve others, to make the world better wherever he goes. He just looked at me, not understanding why old Dad’s face was contorted beyond recognition.
That’s more than I intended to write today. It was just such a meaningful ceremony, and a fitting end to a very important 4 years. What an incredible thing a father/son bond can be. Every dad knows it, and every boy lives it in his own terms. My other son, Henry, by the way, has one more year in Indian Guides. He and I will both bounce out next May.
I have not been blessed with daughters, but my wife has incredible memories of her father before he was taken at an unfairly early time. I know that the Father/Daughter bond is just as meaningful, and yet, I suspect very different.
What’s your favorite Father/Child story? I’d love to know how some of my readers connect with their Dad. (No need to make your story as long as mine!) As we approach Father’s Day, I’d love to collect some of your stories. And, to entice you a bit, I’ll be giving away an ArchivaLife Classic Edition to two respondents. This will be by random drawing on Tuesday, June 15th.
Tell me about your Dad. Comment below to enter.
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I can make a grown man cry.
I’ve made my dad cry three times that I know of and I only found out about one of them recently. The first time my dad cried because of me was when I took him to see the wedding dress I had picked out. My best friend had helped me pick out the dress as my mother had passed away less than three months before. I remember modelling the dress with a big grin on my face because I had fallen in love with the dress. My dad was speechless with tears rolling down his cheeks. For a moment I was confused, but he admitted he loved the dress, he just thought I would have asked him to help me pick it out. I think it was a little more than just that. I was his first child to get married.
I don’t know if he cried during the wedding, but the photographer got a picture of us hugging as my new husband and I were getting ready to leave the reception. Both of us are red-eyed with tears in the picture. If you want to make a grown man cry, be his first daughter to get married.
The third time actually happened before I even got married and I didn’t even know it. My father had a hard time seeing me grow up. I was always his little girl that needed protecting. So when I expressed a desire to drive race cars like he did, I was surprised that he took me seriously. After I witnessed him survive a very serious racing accident with little more than a bump to the head and he found out I still wanted to race, he and my mother signed the necessary papers to allow me to go to a Sports Car Club of America drivers’ school when I was eighteen. Below is what someone recently wrote to me about me and my dad at that first drivers’ school. So the “you” is me, Carl is my father, the “Z tribe” is my family and friends, and “tearing up a little” constitutes crying.
“I was crewing for Ralph at a Road Atlanta Driver’s School once when we were adjacent to the Z. tribe. My recollection is that this was your first driver’s school and we were on the first row in the pits near the front straight, you on the turn 1 side and Ralph on the turn 12 side. Bill King and Gordon Warren were there trying to keep Ralph’s head screwed on straight, with minor success. I could tell on Saturday morning how Carl was at least a little concerned about how things would go for you. Everyone ended up being amazed with how well you handled everything and how aggressively you attacked the course. By Sunday afternoon, Carl was so proud he could bust. People would wander by and comment favorably on your performance and, even with a big smile on his face, he would still tear up a little.”
All I have to do is be his little girl and make him proud. I love my dad and still meet him every week for lunch and we’ve both come to terms with the fact that I’m finally grown up. I imagine one day, if he lives long enough, he may cry a few more times when he sees what his grandsons can accomplish.
My biological father died when I was 14, about 43 years ago now.
My mom remarried one of the last great men a few years later. His name was Ken Levey. And for the next 18 years, he was my “Dad”.
We planted gardens together. He was there for me so many different times when there was work to be done around the house or my car broke down. We butted heads, argued, made up, then planned surprises together for my mom.
The most important thing he did for me though, was to model God in the way he dealt with my siblings and myself. He reprimanded for the error, but always loved us for who we were.
My dad owns and trains race horses for a living. It made for an interesting childhood. I grew up on a ranch and at race tracks all around California. My dad worked really hard and, like most children, I never really appreciated how much he did for us as a family. One thing that stands out in my mind is that every Christmas, he would put some hay on our roof for the reindeer. Every Christmas morning, it was gone. It made the holiday magical for me and my sister. We believed in Santa for years beyond our peers and even now, I’m not so certain that he always remembered to take the hay down.
I never made my Dad cry, because I grew up in an era when men who cried were considered unmanly. Still, we had some wonderful times together. Fishing with my Dad was always fun, even when we didn’t catch many fish. Our small aluminum boat with a trolling motor was perfect for fishing among stumps and lily pads, the sort of places where large mouth bass love to hide. Dad would cut the motor before we reached one of his “secret fishing spots” and glide into place, so as not to scare the fish. Dad taught me how to cast and retrieve without getting hung up on the vegetation, and in such a way that the bass would be lured to strike. When I got a bite, he taught me how to set the hook, and reel in the fish. We carefully released many smaller fish, and tried again for the “big one”. Consequently, we often came home laughing but empty handed. On the rare occasions when we did catch a “lunker”, we proudly put it on the dinner platter and stood for photos. I still have one of these old photographs of my Dad, me, and the big one that didn’t get away! I didn’t realize at the time that in addition to teaching me how to fish, my Dad was also teaching me patience, and persistence–traits that have been of great value to me throughout my life.
My dad was my buddy. I followed him around while he worked in his shop, we went berry picking and mushroom hunting together. I helped him in the garden… always on his heels and under his feet. He was a daddy to 9 children and not a one of us could walk by without getting a “squeeze” He , with a big smile on his face,would put his arms out when he saw one of us coming and gave the mightiest of hugs. “Come give your Pap a squeeze”, he would say.
When I was 17, I was given an engagement ring as a Christmas present by my then boyfriend. My younger sister and I shared both a room and bed, so she had seen the ring. The following morning I woke to see tears streaming down my daddy’s face. He was sitting by the bed holding my ringed hand. He hugged me and said” Aw Dee! I’ve lost my baby!” That was 39 years ago. He shook and shed tear as he walked me down the aisle. He wept when I told him a few years later that he was going to be a grandpa.
My daddy has been gone since 1989 and I miss him and those squeezes more than I can say.
And yes, I am still married to the man who gave me that ring when I was seventeen. We will celebrate our 37th wedding anniversary in September.
When we were young kids our parents loaded up the station wagon and off to Florida and Georgia (fromTexas) we would go for a two week vacation. One year we were traveling on my father’s birthday. While the other children were sleeping I was sitting the back seat busy as a bee. Several times my parents asked what I was working on and I just replied “nothing”. I presented my Dad with a hand drawn birthday card while he was driving down the highway. He seemed to love it and I thought oh I have done good. Fast forward many many years. I had moved away from my home town and was home for a visit. My darling Dad reached in his wallet and presented me with THE Birthday card. He had been carrying it around all these years. I think we both cried and I was so very proud to know he carried that around all those years. And to this day as far as I know it is still in the wallet he carries.