Memories about Father's Day are few for me. Father's Day wasn't celebrated widely until the 1920s, and while I was growing up, our family simply attended church on Father's Day. Beyond that, we didn't do anything particularly special.
Like many fathers of the World War II generation, my dad seemed to believe that children should be "seen but not heard." Because of that, I can't remember having many conversations with him. Yet there were small moments that revealed his care and affection.
We enjoyed watching the TV show Mannix together and predicting how many times Mannix would get hit on the head during an episode. When I was in my twenties, Dad sent me a subscription to Christianity Today. Years later, after retirement, he took up baking cookies and regularly mailed us some of his delicious creations. On a visit to Chinatown, he surprised me with a pair of earrings. Another time, he hauled a piano crate out of storage for us. After we unloaded it, my mother put the box to good use as a storage shed.
Those gestures may seem ordinary, but they spoke volumes. Dad wasn't a man who expressed his love with many words. Instead, he showed it through faithfulness, hard work, and a willingness to help whenever he was needed. He worked diligently to provide for our family and spent countless hours repairing things around the house. Looking back, I realize that his steady presence gave me a sense of security and stability. Because he was always there, doing what needed to be done, I was blessed with a good childhood—and for that, I remain grateful.
I Corinthians 1: 26 For consider your calling, brothers: not many of you were wise according to worldly standards, not many were powerful, not many were of noble birth.
No comments:
Post a Comment