My Dad

I frequently wake up in the night and worry about things. But tonight, I've been thinking through some pleasant memories of my dad that I thought I should record. (May I clarify at the outset that, although my dad takes center-stage in these examples, there are plenty where my mom is the primary figure. I'll give her a well-deserved post soon.)

-When I was in jr. high, I pulled The Great Gatsby down from the family book shelf to read. When I had finished, I announced it proudly at dinner. My dad seemed pleased and started commenting on some aspects of the novel. It turned into a sort of book club discussion with my parents and older siblings. I remember this conversation so clearly because I was able to make some comments that seemed to resonate with my dad and that moved the conversation forward. I had reached a point where I could be an integral part of a literary discussion with my family. My dad would sometimes instigate poetry nights where we would each bring a favorite poem, and read and discuss them. (My dad's undergrad major was English and he is very well-read. As is my mom.)

-For our family home evening lessons (weekly lessons on spiritual subjects), my dad would often share a verse or section from his scripture study that had made an impression on him. Then we would all discuss it, pulling in other scriptural references or personal examples. I loved hearing his insight. The one I remember specifically was in Mark 9:24 where the father of the suffering boy says, "Lord, I believe; help thou mine unbelief." Whenever I read or hear that story now, I think of my dad and his thoughts on those verses.

-This one is just a little snapshot memory. My dad was on the phone giving advice to one of my married siblings. The things he was saying were so wise, that I thought I ought to go write them down. (Unfortunately, I don't think I did.) I'm often struck by my dad's wisdom.

-Lest future generations read this and think my dad was a somber man, I'll share some memories of a different sort. Our ward (church congregation) used to have an annual swim party. Every year, my siblings and I, along with many of the other kids, would take turns riding on my dad's back in the pool. We would hold on tight while he dove down and thrashed around to buck us off. By the end of the evening, he would always have big red scratches and welts on his back - but he would brush aside any concerns we'd express.

-Once, when my dad was bishop, he came to a ward roller skating party wearing a motorcycle helmet, knee and elbow pads, and a big pillow strapped to his behind.

-One Christmas Eve, we were down in the family room playing with some presents we'd received. Suddenly, we saw Santa in the doorway. He ran away, and we chased him upstairs and into my parents' bathroom. When we pounded on the door, my dad called out that he had been sitting on the toilet when Santa suddenly burst in and then jumped out the window. When Dad came out, we wanted to go look around in the bathroom, and we asked him plenty of questions, but he stuck to his story.

-Once my mom locked the keys in the car when she was up at the high school track. She just jogged home and asked my dad if he could go with her at some point and bring it back. She got busy with other things, and he snuck over with the extra key and unlocked one of the doors. When they went back together, he said some things like, "Are you sure you checked all of the doors?" My mom was frustrated and kept saying, "Of course I checked all of them!" Then she discovered that one of them was unlocked. She was so surprised and flustered until my dad admitted what he'd done.

I admire both of my parents so much. They have a wonderful relationship with each other and with each of us. (Like Lavell Edwards, I can say that I'm probably their favorite. And so can my siblings.)

And now I'm going back to bed!