Father of Mine

"He didn't tell me how to live; he lived, and let me watch him do it."

  ~Clarence Budington Kelland

I'm not really sure how to write about my father. I have thought about doing it many times, but I always talk myself out of it. I think part of the reason is I don't want to become emotional, the other part is because I don't believe I could do him justice. 
In fact, it has taken me hours to even type this much on the subject...

We had a friend who's father underwent open heart surgery last week. During the same time, a couple in our church had a sudden loss. My father, brother and I went to pay our respects and show support for this young family. We listened as the priest talked about the man who had passed away and I began experiencing a variety of emotions. Here I was, sitting next to my own dad while we were mourning the unexpected loss of someone else's dad. I thought about our friend who's father was recovering from a quadruple bypass. I thought about my friend who lost her dad when she was 18, my other friend who would give anything to have a relationship with her father, and yet another friend who doesn't even know who her father is. The soloist started singing the hymn "On Eagle's Wings" when my dad leaned over with a smile and said, "This is what I want you to sing at my funeral." 

And I looked at him like he was crazy.

"Your funeral???"  

"You want me to sing at your FUNERAL????"  

"Did you really have to say that???"  

"SERIOUSLY????"

No, I didn't actually speak any of this, but I thought all of it and more. I've thought about death and people close to me dying. But, there's something about your parents...they aren't supposed to get old or sick or talk about their funerals. I know, I live in denial that they aren't human and that they will always be around. I'll admit it. I'm a grown woman with kids and a mortgage and I still want to believe that my parents will live forever. 

Am I the only one who thinks like this?

My dad lost his dad back in 2006. It was expected...he was very sick...but I don't think losing a parent is something you are ever ready for. So, after my dad's remark about singing his favorite hymn, I started analyzing all of it. 

This is how my brain is wired. 

"When that day comes, can I even do it?" "Will I even be able to get words out?" 

I began to think back to the days I would wait up for him to come home from another church service, the Thursday nights we would watch The Cosby Show together and my first day of kindergarten when he cried more than I did. I thought back over the years of lectures and groundings and more lectures. I thought about the way he laughs and tells stories and how he can preach better than any preacher I've ever heard (and trust me, I've heard alot of them). I thought about him baptizing me when I was 6 years old and how he taught me to drive in the Boone High School parking lot 10 years later. 


Now comes the time where I make another confession: I have had a life-long struggle with my father being my father and also my pastor. It's an interesting conflict. On one hand, it's a great comfort. On the other, it's a great frustration. If you are a P.K. and you are reading this, you can totally relate. If not, how do I explain? It would probably be the same for someone who's teacher was also their mother...wait, I was home schooled for 7 years, so I guess I can relate to both. I think the most awkward of examples I can offer to you was when it came time for J and I to go through pre-marital counseling. Dad was going to be performing the ceremony after he walked me down the aisle and therefore, he would be doing our marriage counseling. Oy. Looking back, I should have looked elsewhere, but with everything else I had going on, it was the easiest option. I will let you use your imagination regarding the final topic covered (ahem, yes, it was sex). But, all joking aside, having a preacher for a father can make for a pressure filled childhood and adolescence. As I confessed in a previous blog, I spent a long time running from that pressure. When I finally realized it wasn't so much "pressure", but more responsibility to live the way I knew was right, I began to see my dad in a whole new way.


My dad is super smart and he doesn't mind telling you so. His favorite saying: "Be part of the solution instead of part of the problem".  His favorite Bible verse is Psalm 37:4. His real name isn't Rick and he almost named me Darcy. Thank goodness my mom stood her ground on that one. He loves sports, Mexican food and teenagers. He has the biggest heart of anyone I've ever known and he never says a bad word about anyone. He has touched thousands of people during his lifetime and is the first to offer help if he feels someone is in need. He has raised 4 kids, taken care of his elderly parents, been knocked down more times than he would care to recount and watched alot of people come and go from his life. He always jokes that he should write a book and title it, "What Not To Do". 
I have argued with him, yelled at him, complained about him and teased him. I have agreed with him, sung with him, complained to him and encouraged him. We don't dare look at each other when something funny happens at a serious moment. We know exactly what the other is thinking. 
I respect him, admire him and value his input. 
(Although, when he reads this he will more than likely say, 
"Oh really?" with raised eyebrows. :) 


What am I trying to say? I really have no idea. All I know is I had to get all of this "fatherly" thinking out of my brain and in front of me. Obviously my dad's funeral request shook me up a little. I guess this is my feeble attempt to remind myself of how unbelievably blessed I am. I not only look up to my dad, but I have such a good relationship with him. I have been told that I am too sensitive, too caring, too involved, that I take things too personally and that I should set better boundaries. I agree with all of it, but I can't help it. Those are the things I got from Rick Shearouse. Oh, and maybe his sarcasm, too. ;)