It’s Father’s Day. I thought I would take a few minutes to reflect on my dad.
I didn’t know my dad very well. He and my mom divorced when I was about four years old. It was a nasty affair, and as a result, I didn’t see my dad for most of my childhood. My mom remarried and moved across the country. As often happens, my mom made my dad out to be the bad guy. When you’re a child, you tend to trust the adults around you, so I grew up with a less than favorable opinion of him. He didn’t attend my high school graduation, and he did not walk me down the aisle during my wedding. I don’t think I talked to him for at least ten years.
I married at the young age of 19, and by the time I was 22, I was the mom of a wee one. Some time between the birth of my two children, Dad wrote me a letter. It accompanied a gift he sent to my daughter. I have no idea how he got my address. I remember agonizing about my response to his letter. I prayed, my heart very heavy. In the end, I decided to forgive him for his absence during my youth. I wrote him back.
We began corresponding, and eventually we spoke on the phone. Honestly, I don’t remember what that first phone call was like. I’m sure I was a nervous wreck. Shortly after the birth of my son, my dad made plans to visit me. My sister and I lived in the same city.
I will never forget that moment in the airport when we were reunited. Picture two 20-something year old girls, toting babies on our hips, Soccer Chick toddling beside me, running into the arms of the father they had not seen since they were in elementary school. The tears flowed, as they are right now as I type this.
My dad greeted Soccer Chick, who was a little overwhelmed by all of the adults crying, in what would become his trademark expression…making duck sounds by pulling on his cheeks. Every visit after that would include many “duck” sounds.
Dad made about three more visits to see me before I moved to south Florida. With each visit, more healing took place. Dad filled in a lot of the missing pieces of my childhood. My childhood was difficult, made more so by the absence of my dad. It became very obvious how much he had missed me and my sister during those years. Many tears were shed during our time together.
I was fortunate to be able to fly out, with the kids in tow, to see my dad one summer. He graciously paid a good portion of the airfare…without telling his wife. That was very much like him…doing for others “under the table.”
Dad lived in Euless, Texas, which is located between Dallas and Fort Worth. He worked during the day while the kids and I swam in his pool and snoozed the days away. At night, he cooked up some delicious meals. He was a trained chef and well-known in the wine industry for his know-how. He sold fine wine and spirits to some of the nicest restaurants in the area.
We visited the zoo (for the record, I hate zoos cause we always seem to go during the hottest time of the year). He tried to imitate the animals. My kids laughed a lot. We also visited the Stock Yards. This was so cool. He bought Soccer Chick a cowgirl outfit, which she wore to dinner that night. Dad had become this Texan with a French accent. A weird combination, but he made it work.
One night, Dad pulled out a bunch of liquor bottles for an impromptu taste-test. How strange to be sitting around drinking with your father. It’s not like I had my childhood and teen years to transition to that point. My Grandma from France (Dad’s mom) was visiting at the same time, and she didn’t speak much English. However, getting tipsy is the same regardless of what language you speak. She got tipsy, and I laughed the night away.
All was not rosy, however, It’s not easy trying to forge a relationship with someone you’re related to when you don’t have the history that typically accompanies that relationship. Dad and I struggled. He didn’t understand my Christian beliefs. I desperately wanted to see him come to know the Lord. I don’t know if he ever did.
Early in April 2001, I got a late-night phone call. My dad had died that afternoon while training for a triathlon. He had participated in numerous events over the course of his life. He was training with a friend, biking that day, when he suddenly collapsed. He was gone…immediately.
My sister and I flew out together to attend the funeral. For us, it had a sense of sadness that most of the attendees could not understand. We don’t know where Dad stood with the Lord.
The get-together at his house afterwards turned into a wonderful time of remembrance. His wife pulled out his best bottle of wine, and we drank it in celebration of his life. Dad’s step-son handed me the empty bottle as a keepsake. I treasure that. Wine was a huge part of my dad’s life. He was from France and made trips back to the wine country.
I grieved for almost a year after his death. I grieved for the lost time and memories that should have been a part of my life.
Now, I can remember him and smile. Dad taught me quite a few things during our few years back together. Dad was a silly man. His job was sales, and it was a hard business. Yet, Dad didn’t let that stop him from being goofy. He didn’t take himself seriously. How can a Frenchman, living in the South, wearing cowboy hats, take himself seriously?
Dad taught me not to buy cheap wine from drug stores. One New Year’s Eve, I called him to get a recommendation for a good brand of champagne…one that wouldn’t break me. In the process, I told him that I love Arbor Mist. “Oy, Nathalie [said with a French accent], you’re giving me indigestion!”
I never drank the stuff again. 😀
Dad taught me to do for others. After he died, I found out that during the winter, he used to buy gloves and hand them out to the homeless. I would like to think that my charity knitting is due, partially, to his influence. He was generous…to a fault at times.
Dad also truly appreciated nature. He went to the Hill Country down in south Texas as often as he could, despite the distance from his home. In fact, when I went out to visit him, I flew in to Austin. He drove us to San Antonio, where I got to see the Alamo. We then spent a couple of days in a cabin in the Hill Country. It was beautiful, although I couldn’t fully appreciate it with two toddlers in tow. He spent many hours beautifying his yard. His backyard was beautiful.
So, on this Father’s Day, I remember my dad. I’m glad I took the leap of faith, trusted God, and responded to that letter. I would have missed so much if I hadn’t.
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