it's a day made for dad

I tend to think most holidays (minus Easter and Christmas) are generated by the marketing cog known as Hallmark. Or Dayspring. This theory was proven on Father's Day 2009 as Hope and I shopped for cards. She kept circling back to one of those talking cards. Except this one allowed her to record her own personal message for her Daddy.

Cost? $6.99. Lee's reaction to the card? Pricless. Seriously? He loved it. For the first time in my life, I was relieved to have shelled out an insane price for paper and audio.

I called my own Dad this afternoon. He was sitting down to a roast dinner with my step-mom and her son. In keeping with my aversion to marketing cogs, I refused to partake and my Dad awoke to Father's Day cardless. And without a present.

In reality, I'm a horrible celebrator of holidays of any kind. Unless they involve my daughter. Or my husband. And even then, I'm never as planned out as I like.

On the way home from picking up my husband's favorite dinner, I caught a bit of Tavis Smiley. I'm not a frequenter of NPR, but tonight, I was. He was interviewing a 90-ish year old man that he kept referring to as "the greatest preacher on the planet." His first name was Gardner and as I type this, I remember that I meant to look up his full name on the internet.

The thing that struck me the most, was his daughter's portion of the interview. Tavis kept asking her question about the depth of her Dad's sermons. What stuck with her the most? On and on it went.

She finally just said, "You know Tavis, he was just my Daddy. I didn't understand his significance to the world until I was much, much older. Even still, I'm not sure I understand fully."

When I called my Dad, I thanked him for being my Dad. I don't think I've ever told him that. And I could tell by his reaction (a good one) that it meant something to him.

My Dad isn't grand. Or smart. He provided for his family the best he knew how. There are many things I've been embarrased about over the years. His lack of education. The scrapes he's gotten himself into - even well into his sixties. They aren't always things to be proud of. In fact, I don't know that he's proud of them.

One thing that has been constant about my Dad is who he is. He's there. He's never waivered. Never left. He sought me out when I was lost. He took me in when things were messy. And he raised me when I landed on his new family's doorstep in the most tumultuous of teen years.

I love my Dad. The smallness of him. The greatness of him. The significance of who he is.

My Dad is solid. And although we aren't close, I'm not sure how I'll manage when he's not drawing breath on this earth.