To The Man Who Taught My Dreams To Fly--Daddy's Father's Day Tribute

Father’s Day, well, it was Father’s Day.
I realize my Father’s Day post is actually being written the day after it was supposed to be published. However, as this is a post-humus tribute, it can be a few hours “late”.
“The righteous man walks in his integrity; his children are blessed after him” (Proverbs 20: 7). Tonight as I was having my devotions and contemplating what to write, I saw this verse and knew that it was Daddy’s verse.
Daddy was a colorful man, who, even as a teenager showed potential of living a fascinating , yet tumultuous life. He proudly told the story of declaring to the officer that he was a Californian—with a South Carolinian driver’s license—and Georgian license plates. As daddy impishly told that poor cop, “I’m from here there and everywhere”.
Daddy was the type of man who loved to accomplish projects. In fact, he so loved to accomplish projects, that he had eight children whom he trained to accomplish these projects. Daddy loved to manage, to be the boss, but actually do the work himself…. He, like Frank Gilbreth of the original book, Cheaper By The Dozen, believed in efficiency in everything, and that children were the key to efficiency.
Had Daddy only believed in using children as tools, we would have felt used and hated him. However, paired with his project-oriented, efficiency, schemer side, was a man who deeply loved God, country, and most importantly FAMILY.
We children were well-aware of the devotion and love our father poured into our lives. His idiosyncrasies manifest themselves eight-fold in his offspring, as we consciously (yet sometimes unconsciously) mimic our father’s actions and beliefs.
Today in church I was reminded once again how none of us actually bring our Bibles to church. We leave our Bibles home out of sheer habit. It is not that we do not have Bible—nay, we have many. But Daddy never took his Bible to church. Therefore, none of us have ever seen the need to take them along (much to the chagrin of our Sunday School teachers).
Daddy instilled in us a love of driving, a hatred for seatbelts, a strong desire and ability to outsmart law enforcement (I apologize, I do), a fierce loyalty to the party of Reagan and Limbaugh, but most of all, an abiding love of God.
My father was not a man of pomp and ceremony. Like Johnny Cash he was the “man in black”, finishing up the get up with cowboy boots. But his distaste for all things remotely ostentatious or unneeded runs parallel to his fervent desire to bring his children up in the training and admonition of the Lord.
Family devotions and church were not option in our house: they happened. Devotions were to be held every day when Daddy said they were to be held, and staying home sick from church was only an excuse if one needed brain surgery. Daddy didn’t push religion on us; he allowed Christ to permeate our home. Daddy was a critic of preachers and pop Christianity, but a stalwart lover of Christ. He didn’t believe in legalism, but he held a strict code of apparel and behavior for his children, one that instilled in all of us standards that we will forever carry with us.
Growing up, I didn’t have nearly as many “things” as my friends. I was bereft of a full closet, the knowledge of marine world, sea world, Disney world..(etc) the mall, personal music collections, and all those things that define the American child. However, I was given far more than my friends were. Daddy saw to it that we were homeschooled, so that our brains could be allowed to blossom. Descended from a news junkie, we were constantly being informed by the TV (just rabbit ears—no satellite from him) talk radio, and the newspaper of the current events around our town, state, country, and world. There was a time when I could name many of the members of the G.W. Bush cabinet. Daddy saw to it that his nine year old (me) understood the workings of the presidential elections—starting with the party primaries. Thanks to my father, I still mutter “Gore-Loserman” under my breath when I hear of Senator Liebermann. (Remember, I was 9 when the 2000 presidential election happened.)
Daddy taught us children via first hand experiences. Through his work we learned what erosion was, saw how dangerous drugs were, and learned at a young age that working to pay for more work is something that must often be done. (Daddy had us work to pay for the down payment of our missions trips to Mexico.)
I miss my daddy. I miss his smile, his warm brown eyes, his way of pushing me to do more with my life, his love of politics, his leadership, his wisdom.
I am thankful, though, for the five days short of 16 years that I was privileged to spend with him. Daddy’s legacy affects my choices, without me even realizing it. He is the reason I read Forbes Magazine, even though the world of investing is a foreign one to me. He taught me that no information is useless, and I know that if he saw Forbes in the house, he would give me the assignment of reading it. There are some of Daddy’s attributes that I can never fully find a proxy for—such as his discernment that I could use when I think I’ve found the man I want to marry.
My father was a great man. Yes, he was a flawed man, very flawed. But the greatest men are the ones with the greatest flaws—that they overcome. He was not rich in money when he died—quite the opposite—but he left of rich legacy to the world: his wife and children.
I have not mentioned my mother in this tribute much; but I would be remiss if I did not say that Daddy’s legacy could not have fully been carried out if he had not married the great woman that is my mother. It is said that behind every great man there is a great woman: this is true. Daddy married a woman (Just like Frank Gilbreth did) who was capable of taking the torch that was the family and continuing on in the family’s mission. Dearest mom, we thank you for cultivating Daddy within us, and never letting us forget him.
One of my greatest dreams is to write a book about my family’s journey, and use the proceeds to buy Daddy a headstone. Yes, my dear, great father lies in an unmarked grave. But as God in His sovereignty ordained it, a massive oak tree benevolently shades the plots, as if to remind the world of the great man whose bones lie ‘neath its branches. I rejoice that daddy’s soul is in Heaven with the One he loved most dearly.
I close this Father’s Day tribute with a verse that summarizes what daddy left behind for the world: “AN inheritance gained hastily at the beginning, will blessed at the end”.