My Rebounder

My Dad and I met on June 17, 1977. I was born on June 14, 1977 and brought to a one-bedroom garage apartment on Parrish Street to meet my parents three days later. I think it was love at first sight for both of us. My dad used to tell me how my crib was at the foot of mom and dad’s bed and for the first days of my life, he would lie at the foot of the bed and watch me sleep and sit there and cry, in awe that God had chosen to give him such a precious gift. I don’t remember much of that…I was busy sleeping and eating and crying I would guess.

I don’t know when my first memories of my Dad start. I’ve often thought to myself if memories from our earliest days are actually existent or if a lot of those memories we have are simply from pictures and stories that those older tell us. My grandfather (my Mom’s dad) died when I was not quite 3 years old. He was the manager of a Company Store in Burnwell, WV. I think I can remember him sitting me on the counter at the store and letting me pick out the candy of my choice when I went to visit. I think I can remember him walking me down to the bridge to throw rocks in the creek. Do I really remember these things or are these things rather memories that are brought to me from stories and pictures?

I don’t remember living at that apartment on Parrish Street--we moved into our house in Cherokee on December 26, 1978. All my memories begin in Cherokee. I remember my Dad and I getting up waaay before daybreak and putting on our finest fishing gear and going fishing at Douthat. I’m not a very good fisherwoman…I am just too impatient. I remember going out with Daddy on our little fishing boat to Lake Moomaw and catching 25 bluegill….granted, I probably caught the same 5 bluegill 5 times, but Daddy never let me know that. A lot of my memories revolve around Church. We were at Church every time the doors were open. I was sure I was the only kid at Parrish Court that had to endure Wednesday night Prayer Meeting, Sunday night Bible Study and every other thing that happened there. I resented it at the time…I am grateful for it now. Parenting is all about planting seeds. You may see your crop harvested immediately, or it may take 20 or 30 years for them to harvest.

I remember my Dad playing basketball in the driveway with me every single day of my life from 4th grade to 12th grade. He was my rebounder. Pretty funny…I still think of him as my rebounder. Webster’s defines rebound as “to recover, as from ill health or discouragement.” When I fail miserably at the game of life, I still count on my Dad to be my rebounder.

My Dad has always put a lot of pressure on me. At times, I resented him for that. Now I see that he could see capabilities in me that I didn’t see in myself and wanted me to always reach for the moon…if I missed, I could always grab onto a star. There is no one on earth who adores a daughter quite like a father. He is her protector, her cheerleader, her rock and her hero. He adores her and loves her unconditionally.

It takes a special kind of man to raise a daughter. We girls seem to deviate from the standard manual from time to time. We cry a lot. We get our feelings hurt easily. We could possibly be defiant and rebellious. I had a little brown stuffed Puppy that my mom broke down and bought me from Legget one time when I was a tiny thing. I named him Brownie. Who knew that little brown dog would come to mean so much to me? His eyebrows have been sewn back on 3 times, as well as his nose. I took Brownie with me everywhere I went. When I was sad or hurt, my Dad would come to me, pick up Brownie and in this high-pitched voice, talk to me…through Brownie. I never remember being sad after I talked to Brownie…I always ended up laughing. Brownie’s talks got me through many things from fights with friends, a bad grade on a test, and even a broken heart or two.

My dad has always been my biggest fan. He has always encouraged me and believed in me. He has always wanted more for me…I wish I had a nickel for every time I heard the lecture, “I want you to get your education so you will never have to work shift work like Daddy does.” Isn’t this what every parent wants for their child? No matter how good our lives may be, we always want better for our children.

It’s hard for me to write or talk about my Dad because I am so passionate about him. When I was a freshman in college, I gave a speech about my Dad for my required Speech class. I don’t know how I got through that thing, but I did, and I got an A in the class and became the Teacher’s Pet from that moment on. I think it had little to do with my speaking abilities and much to do with my subject matter.

I love my Daddy. I love him for always being there for me. I love that he cries in church, just like me. I love that he complains about his dog and scratches her ears when nobody’s looking. I love that he wore “Winners” from Sears so I could have the latest Nike fashion for my feet. I love that he wrote me weekly letters when I was in college. I love the way he tells a story. I love the way he always seems to find a way to slip me some extra cash when he knows we don’t have quite enough that month. I love the way my kids look sitting on his old, bad knees. I love his patience and his perseverance. I love how he never yelled at me when I was a kid. I love how he still drives his ‘84 Ford Pick-Up. I love how he gets frustrated with me when I forget to get my van inspected or have the oil changed. I love that he used to sit me on the bed and read the Bible to me. I love the way he knelt down beside the bed with me to pray. I love the way he danced with me at my wedding…possibly the most uncomfortable he’s ever been in his life…but it was for me, so he did it. I just love him…not for one thing, but for 32 years of things.
Happy Father’s Day Daddy! XOXO