My Dad

(I wrote this as a nomination for "Father of the Year" at my parents' church.)

Most people who have spent any time at all with my dad probably know the following things:

1. He's a hard worker, (and he's hard of hearing.)
2. He's conservative with his money and in his politics.
3. He keeps his yard and his cars neat and clean.
4. He likes to fix things -- lawn mowers, running toilets, chainsaws, my mom's opinions.
5. He has high expectations for others, even higher ones for himself.

Some of these are things others might not know about Dad.

1. His temper is fierce when he does get mad, so don't push too hard when you're arguing with my mom.
2. When he's nervous, he talks. . . a lot.
3. He only wears ties when my mother makes him.
4. He promises that this year's garden is his last. . . every year.
5. He prays on his knees every night.

Of course, in his spare time, his hobbies are planning for disasters and worrying about the plans.

He's also a softie. He likes Reds baseball and Louisville basketball because those are his younger grandson's teams. He pretends he enjoys Shakespeare when his older grandson is on the stage. He's been known to buy a car that he's never test driven when his granddaughter picked out the car. My mom almost never pumps her own gas , and somehow, the gas can for my lawn mower (in Louisville) never has to be refilled. He loves and cares for us the way many of our dads do, if we're lucky enough, but my dad has also proven himself in the darkest of seasons.

Nearly three years ago a mental illness that I had vehemently denied having for years began to spiral out of control. My marriage was ending and my children were leaving the nest and it was easy to blame my illness on the amount of stress and change in my life. Unfortunately, by the time the stressors had subsided my mental illness had moved into the driver's seat.

For possibly the first time in our family we had a problem my dad couldn't fix. He couldn't fight or buy the illness away. He couldn't order new parts. He wasn't able to reason or argue with it. He couldn't find any bootstraps to pull up. He couldn't work hard enough or long enough; he couldn't even pray it away.

Just when I was convinced that my illness had won and that I had alienated and disappointed him enough to leave me alone to self-destruct in peace, he got his second wind and chose to walk with me straight into the fire. Believe me, the fire was hot; we all have scars to prove it.

That walk entailed thousands of miles ( and dollars), painful conversations, attempts to explain and understand, the shedding of pride, asking for help, trusting others, looking at God and religion in a completely different way.

I did not have a "road to Damascus" experience -- the walk, as my parents will attest to, has been long and difficult, and we realize that it will never be completely finished. Relapses and unhealthy choices make appearances from time to time, and honestly, I don't think my dad will ever fully understand it, but that doesn't matter anymore. My dad no longer promises me that he can fix things, but just like God, my dad will never leave me, even when the night is dark or I vote a straight democratic ticket. How lucky am I!?!