Disclaimer: I realize that when speaking about someone who has died there is a tendency to speak with a more grandiose tone than real reality and a tendency to overlook a flaw to exaggerate an endearing attribute. Read this short Father's Day tribute with that filter.
My dad was never known as a man filled with lots of words, but there is one thing that never escaped my awareness of hearing him speak; it would mostly be in the response of others when he spoke. People would lean in to hear what he had to say. Not necessarily because he had a soft voice, but because you just didn’t want to miss what he had to say. It might have been because you knew what he was about to say had been taken captive in his mind before it was spoken. It may have been because of his timely manner of delivering a line filled with whit intended to cause joy. In spite of his sometimes relentless teasing, there are few people I’ve known able to speak with genuine kindness.
My dad was known by many names; Clyde, Sam, Uncle Clyde, Poppa, Grandpa, Colorado Clyde, The Circuit Rider, Preacher, Pastor… and my favorite, Dab.
I’ll miss two things this Father’s Day
- I’ll miss that short three minute phone call with my dad.
- I’ll miss my dad.
“I will open my mouth in a parable; I will utter dark saying from of old, things that we have heard and known, that our fathers have told us. We will not hide them from their children, but tell to the coming generation the glorious deeds of the LORD, and his might, and the wonders that he has done.” Psalm 78:2-3 (ESV)