September 6th 2016 had been one of those crazy weeks where careful laid plans go scattering like chaff. A child in hives and an autoimmune disease flare up cramped my plans for getting ready for the music camp weekend.
Oh, these are the weeks that I miss my father the most.
Most women marry a version of their father, not me. I married a mixture of my Uncle George and Mother. Is this because I lost my father when I was 16? Don’t get me wrong. I love my husband but I miss my daddy’s listening ear. Throwing open the white washed barn door with his doodling’s with a pencil, boxes or plants or animals mingle with numbers of folks calling about farm or church business. Dad doodled while listening on the phone. Guess I take after him. Ask my college professors.
Walk into the barn. And plop myself down, dramatically, on anything handy and spill my guts with a lot of whys? Why does it have to done this way? Why can’t we do things this way? How about? And I would be off while he moved from bovine to bovine.
I really do miss his listening ear. The smells of the barn. Him grumping at Mable, the Jersey milk cow, swinging her stub of a whip tail knocking his manured cap askew. This week I would have grumped about the hives and this disease that cramps my style. Of course he would tell me to suck it up or ask me how I can work around it and what ideas do I have.
In this moment of reflection, I pause and realize that I am calming myself by listening to Tennessee Ernie Ford hymns. A tad different from my usual listening. Dad would have shaken his head at my son dancing at the Korean pop group, CNBLUE’s ‘
Coffee Shop’. I guess in some ways I am glad he is gone. I am afraid that I will have disappointed him so much by now. Or, as I self-inspect, would I have never gone down the path I did? I was always able to make better decisions after talking to him.
Looking into the future, past the trash and clothes on floor. Past the dust and dirty walls, will my children be able to look at the time I am with them and be happy? Will they continue on and be listening ears to their families? Better yet will they be listeners of the heart? For sometimes it is not the words that are spoken but the emotions expressed. Yep, weeks like this I miss my daddy.