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My Dad
My dad was always there. Every night at the dinner table, he was there. Sometimes it was a pain, if I was late or had a poor report card, he was right there.
Some rules in our house were unspoken. We couldn't use bad words or talk back to our mother. We could only miss school if we were dead. We had to be at church every Sunday — we couldn't miss unless we were dead.
Dad handled all the bills and the checkbook. I never knew about things like utility bills. When I got married, I thought utilities came with the house. My husband was surprised I didn't know we had to pay for utilities.
In my childhood days and where we lived, Mom didn't even drive. My dad dated her, took her to dances, shows, dance lessons, ice skating, roller skating, horseback riding, and swimming. She didn't have a checkbook, but she never wanted for anything. Dad respected my mom, supported my mom, loved my mom, and we had better do the same.
My mother was a closet accordion player. I didn't know it at the time, but I was one of the few privileged people who heard her play. She also played the guitar and the steel guitar. My dad bought her some nice musical instruments. I thought this was what a dad was supposed to do — pay all the bills, rule the kids, and give mom whatever she needs.
When I became an adult, I found out Dad was still there. If I had kid problems, husband problems, or homesickness, he was there. He was always at the end of the phone on the weekend or in the evening after work.
My brother died, and Dad was there. We cried, and Dad continued to live. He continued to go to church, and he continued to pray. He didn't blame God.
Then it happened. Dad died. I didn't ever imagine Dad dying. This meant he was no longer there. He had been my rock and my support system.
A few months after my dad died, I had a house fire. I didn't have Dad to call and ask what to do. I didn't have Dad to say that this, too, would work out. Then I remembered I'd been complaining that I needed new carpets — mine were stained, and my floors were getting worn. After the fire, I used the insurance money to buy new carpets and floors. Then I thought, "Oh yes, my dad is still there, still listening to me and still loving me."
Yes, he is still there. I married a man like my dad. He is always here, he has been with me, and he has been taking care of me for 43 years.
Dads are so important, especially to their children. Far more important than they will ever know.
D. VanNote
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