Happy Father’s Day

There is so much to miss about my dad, to share about him, I don’t even know where to start. I suppose one good place would be one thing that so many people commented on in the days following my dad’s death: my dad could always talk to anyone about anything. I was always (and still am) jealous of that. I remember countless times on family vacations or just on trips to the grocery store where Dad would strike up a conversation with whoever was closest. Once I got into my teens, I was so embarassed when Dad would start a conversation with whichever of my friends had called while he waited for me to get to the phone…especially when it happened to be a boy.

For those of you who didn’t know my dad, I could start here: my dad was an amazing man. He was intelligent, committed, loving, compassionate, passionate…the list could go on and on. He was a civil engineer, and spent his career working for the Iowa Department of Transportation. His engineering tendencies spilled over into so many things…I remember packing a trailer with my worldly belongings when I was moving into my first apartment in Omaha; I eventually gave up trying to offer help and suggestions to try to pack the trailer after realizing that he had a plan and a vision for how all of that stuff was going to fit into that small space.

My dad was never all that good about saying “I love you”, but there was never a moment I didn’t know that. He was always there for me…I remember vividly several other times when my moving somewhere wouldn’t have happened had it not been for my dad. When I moved to Chicago, we arrived at LSTC not knowing where my apartment would be. Upon finding out it was on the third floor (with no elevator, of course), my dad promptly said with a chuckle, “You know this is the last time I’m going to help you move, right?” And then promptly started up a conversation with my new downstairs neighbor, Matt, and soon we had another helper whom he then took out for pizza and a beer when we were done. My dad thought Matt was a great guy (he is) and would inquire about how Matt was doing every few months even though I don’t think he ever actually saw him again. And even with my dad’s declaration of his intent to never help me move again, several months later when the car I was driving to Omaha to move there for the summer broke down partway across Iowa, there he was to pick me up, pack my stuff in the car, and drive me the rest of the way.

My parents have always been amazing at encourging me and allowing me to make my own decisions. During my sophomore year in college, I was dissatisfied with what I was doing. I knew I wanted something to change, and I was thinking about trying to figure out how to do a semester at a Lutheran college in Alberta (another story unto itself). Dad stopped by Wartburg one day while he was travelling for work to have lunch with me, and I talked to him about what I was thinking and what I thought I wanted to do. He listened patiently, which was probably enough of a task considering how I can get when I talk about things like that. When I asked what he thought I should do, he simply encouraged me to think about it, pray about it, and really figure out what the logistics would be and if it would actually be possible (there’s that engineering mind again). And when I was interviewing for jobs after my volunteer year, I asked my parents for advice about a job I had been offered in Madison, Wisconsin. The job was coordinating a needle exchange program for an AIDS organization…one might assume that parents would have a VERY strong opinion about whether or not their 23 year old daughter should take a job like that, but even when I asked them directly what they thought, both of my parents deferred and said I should do what I thought was best. It was incredibly frustrating at the time, but I honestly think I wouldn’t be the person I am today had I not made those decisions in the manner I did- even the ones that turned out to be not-so-great. And even when I made those not-go-great decisions, my parents were always there to support me.

My dad was incredibly committed to his family…he showed up at virtually every band and choir concert (which in our family numbered in the hundreds, I’m sure), musical, and sporting event. Dad’s office was right across the street from my elementary school and he walked to work almost every day. On the days when the timing was right, I would walk with him…my little 8-year-old legs churning along to keep up with my dad’s long stride (he was 6′4″). On afternoons when it was raining, I would go across the street to wait for my dad to be done with work at 4:30 so Mom could come and pick us up at the same time…I would sit in Dad’s office playing with the rocks and geodes he had around, would talk with his secretary Ardis, and just have fun hanging out at my dad’s workplace. One of the most moving things to me during Dad’s funeral was the story the pastor from the UCC church my parents had been attending told. My family had been long-time members of St. James Lutheran Church in Mason City, but for the past several years my mom has been playing the organ for the UCC church in town. Almost every Sunday, Dad would go to the early service at St. James, and then would head to First Church (as it’s called in MC) to sing in the choir at a later service. After a few months, Pastor Patty said she asked Dad why he would bother going to two churches on the same Sunday. My dad’s reply was because he thought it was that important for families to worship together.

To speak of my father in the past tense is the most bizarre thing to me. I know it’s accurate in a physical sense…it breaks my heart every day to think that my dad won’t be able to walk me down the aisle at my wedding this year. But it’s certainly not accurate to speak of my dad’s spirit, his presence, his guidance in the past tense…those things will be alive in my life and the lives of so many others for years and years to come.

Happy Father’s Day, Dad. I love you and miss you.