Dad-Real Live In Person Superhero
Until now there has only been one perfect father, who is and eternally will be the Father of the only perfect Son. He also happens to be the father of my spirit, who loves me in ways I am only beginning to have an inkling of comprehending. Now that we’re clear on that let’s turn our attention to my other dad, the father of my mortal body, and the man who will be my dad throughout the eternities. A real live in person superhero.
When I was growing up, Superman was just a TV guy who, with a lot of luck and hard work might someday live up to the superhero status my dad held in my esteem. He loved to walk in the fields behind our modest duplex with our hunting dog after work. One of my earliest happy memories is of me riding on his shoulders as he walked through the fields giving our English Pointer, Pat, an opportunity to sniff out a pheasant or quail. As the years went by and siblings came along, I watched him love them the same as he did me, except he seemed to really know the strengths, weaknesses, and foibles in each of our characters, which meant he interacted with each of us differently, yet loved each of us the same. As the oldest I had the advantage of being first to glow with pride over personal accomplishments in music or metal shop or math, and church, becoming a Deacon or a First Class Scout. I also had the disadvantage of being the ‘guinea pig’ of the lot of us, both parents gaining wisdom in childrearing at my expense through experience. Most of the time I wanted more than anything to make my dad proud. When I got into mischief or did something stupid it most certainly was a product of having forgotten or lost sight of my desire to make him proud. He only got really angry with me a couple of times. Each time I more than deserved it and probably worse. He punched me in the shoulder one time pretty hard when I was about eleven or twelve because I had snuck off with a friend in the middle of the night during a back yard sleep over. He had to come looking for us and when he found us running around the junior high school grounds he let me know in no uncertain terms that such behavior would not be tolerated. I can’t imagine the scare it must have put into both him and mom. The fact that my actions had disappointed him hurt a lot more than the bruise I had on my shoulder.
Dad always introduced me to his friends as a ‘fine young man’. I did not always live up to that title, and was often amazed that in spite of my antics proving otherwise, at least in my mind, he continued holding me up as a fine young man. In later years, going through some difficult times of divorce and family restructuring, there was a period when I was angry and disappointed with him. I suppose part of growing up for almost all kids is the shock and disappointment of discovering that mom and dad aren’t perfect after all, just regular human beings, amazingly, like our friends’ parents. That is one of life’s hardest lessons, at least it was for me. In the myopic hypocrisy of Teenager-dom, it seems perfectly normal to be a teacher’s nightmare at school, get into all kinds of mischief in the neighborhood, basically be a little turd, but feel shocked and betrayed when mom and dad aren’t icons of perfection. As the years passed and a little maturity found it’s way into my frontal lobes, I regained not only admiration for my parents, but a strong desire to earn their approval. That desire lives in me until this very day.
You see, over time, I regained some portion of my memory that had been clouded by hormones, various substances I had no business fooling with, and teenage narcissistic stupidity. Fortunately age, wisdom, and the absence of various inappropriate substances lifted the clouds from my memories. I remember dad letting me ‘help’ him work on his car, teaching me the names of various tools as we replaced the brake shoes on his Dodge. He took me and my brother to hunter safety courses and taught us not only how to shoot a rifle and a shotgun, but how to respect and handle them safely. It was something he clearly enjoyed. I wrote a whole blog post about the time he took me deer hunting at the annual family camp (http://skykevver.blogspot.com/2021/08/pine-chicken-and-deer-hunting.html).
I know it took at least twice as long to do the brake job with my ‘help’. Funny how dad got a deer every year except the one where he took me up on the mountain hunting with him. There were a myriad of projects he included my ‘help’ on…not because he needed the help; he could have gotten those things done way faster without my ‘help’. He was teaching me. How to be a man. And that you don’t have to be a professional to do some of the things ‘professionals’ do. Get the tools, do some research, and it’s amazing what one can accomplish. I learned that firsthand from my dad. Nowadays I can do just about anything having to do with car repair, home maintenance, construction, plumbing, wiring, gardening, and even some amateur writing, thanks to my dad’s patient lessons ‘letting me help’. Yes, I do have to mention dad was a skilled writer, with a great vocabulary, which he passed down to the degree we would let him. I admired that about him and have worked hard to expand my own grasp on the written and spoken word.
There comes this amazing time during this whole growing up business when a father shows the meekness of Moses, allowing his son to show him the how to of some thing or another. It was just an awesome thing to be able to show my dad some skill he hadn’t yet mastered that I had. And rather than feel ‘shown up’ or awkward because of some misplaced pride, that pride landed squarely on my shoulders, bringing me joy in my accomplishment, and dad’s appreciation of it. Humility, vulnerability, and grace are traits a dad needs to demonstrate to his children, as my dad did for me. Age will contribute to some of that but so does seasoning and wisdom. I love my dad today more than ever. Even more than when I was five, and Superman was just some TV guy that, with a lot of luck and hard work, might someday measure up to my dad. He is 87. He moves a little slower, but still works out several times a week, and has personal and financial goals he is not only striving for, but is actually achieving. So, at the ripe old age of 64, I still want to be like my dad when I grow up. He is, and always will be my Real Live In Person Superhero.
