My dad's calf died today. Yesterday, he and my mom officially sold the house that I half grew up in (we moved there before I started the eighth grade). He's had a rough weekend. These incidents remind me how incredibly soft-hearted he is.
There are some great stories that go along with this. There's the classic story of the cat and the squirrel. Once upon an afternoon a cat got hold of a squirrel in the road in front of Mom and Dad's house. Unfortunately, the cat didn't finish off the squirrel, but instead left it alive. Dad saw the poor little rodent (are squirrels rodents?), and he rushed to its aid as only Dad would do, pleading "Come on, little fella." Trey swears that he gave the squirrel mouth-to-mouth. The poor little bugger didn't make it, and I'm pretty sure Dad cried. It was both sweet and hysterical at the same time.
Or there are countless times from when I was a kid that I would be hurt (skinned knees and what not), and he would cry with me. I especially remember when my sister, Wendy, was sick. She had severe asthma as a child and had to be hospitalized on several occasions. I remember being very afriad for her, and also wondering how Dad would hold up. Don't get me wrong, it wasn't that he was weak. It's just that he holds things a little closer to his heart than most people do, and it's one of my favorite things about him.
More recently, when my neice, Peyton, was hospitalized with severe kidney disease, Mom and I often talked about whether or not Dad would ever leave the hospital. The truth is that he was there almost as much as Zach and Wendy. This, to me, is a perfect example of Dad as the caretaker of the world - likely stemming from his soft-heart. When I was growing up, every single one of my friends called him "Pop," and I have no doubt that it was because they knew he loved them like his own. In fact, I can probably count 4-5 teenagers who lived with us at some point because they had no where to go. Mom and Dad just had them bring their stuff on over and stay with us until they could get things figured out.
This care-taking was not limited to only people we knew. One summer I volunteered at the hospital in Dallas where Dad worked. It was there that I met "The Governor," Dad's homeless friend who met him on the same corner every morning so that Dad could give him a cigarette. We would talk about the homeless people because it always troubled me to think that anyone had no other person in the whole world to turn to for help. I will always remember Dad telling me about giving to others. He would say (and I'm sure he still does) that if you give someone something and they waste it, you should never be offended. God calls us to help others, and what they do with our help is none of our concern. We just have to worry about doing our part. I still try to live that way, and I hope to teach it to my kids.
My Dad is also the most capable, hardest worker I know. Poor Trey married Michael's daughter - I thought the husband was supposed to be able to fix anything and build anything . When I learned that people actually call electricians and plumbers and pay them to fix things in their houses, I was incredibly surprised. (I don't know what I thought those professionals did for money...) I've seen Dad build entire rooms, wire a house, even run a water line quite a distance. I even personally helped him rip the roof off of our house and put a new one on. Why would you pay someone to do that when you can do it yourself? This weekend, since his calf died and he sold the house and he was having a rough go of it, he built a front porch onto the new house - probably to make himself feel better. I'm amazed at how much he can get done.
This is getting long, but I would be remiss if I didn't mention the fact that there isn't another person on this earth less judgmental than my dad. He loved to tell me to never judge a person until I'd walked a mile in his shoes. Remember those homeless people? Dad would tell me that I didn't know or understand the circumstances of their lives, and being there on that street might just be the very best they could do. If another kid treated me poorly, he would insist that I consider what things might be going on in her life to make her unhappy enough to treat me that way. He always sees the other guys’ side.
I must mention that this was quite frustrating for a teenage girl. When someone was mean to me, I wanted him to run them over with his truck, not tell me to think about their circumstances, for crying out loud. Most of all, I did not want to "kill them with kindness" as he often suggested. I just wanted to kill them (okay, not kill, but smack, maybe?). These lessons, however, have served me well as an adult when I can remember to put them into practice.
All of these are great life lessons that my dad not only preaches, he practices. They are part of who I am, and when I’m really frustrated I still hear his voice in the back of my head advising me to be more tolerant and understanding (not exactly my strong points).
But my very favorite things about my dad are the little things. I laugh every time I think about his crazy green Bermuda shorts with Popeye all over them. His skinny little white-as-a-sheet legs. His request to have “The Cowboy Rides Away” played at his funeral. How much he loves Lonesome Dove. How proud he is of all of us – even when we just do silly little things. Him dancing with my mom all over the kitchen while she's trying to be busy. Him standing to pray in church. Him believing with all his heart that anything is possible. Him cooking breakfast and singing at the top of his lungs while the rest of us try to sleep. Him showing my kids how to gut a fish, and then cooking that fish right up and letting them eat as much as they want. I could go on forever – I love just being with my dad.
If I could only say one thing about the man, it’s that he loves life. He finds joy and purpose all over the place. That's the part of him I most want to live every day, and the part I want my kids to carry on. That's his greatest legacy.
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