On October 26th, my Dad turns 83 years old. I am sending him this letter:
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Dear Dad,
You are turning 83 this year. Do you feel old? I am only 48, and I feel old. But I’ll bet you only feel old in body, but not in spirit.
I was thinking, instead of sending you a card this year, I would send you a letter, some musings and reflections from a son to his father. You have been my Dad for 48 years, though you have been a father for longer than that. For actually 56 years, right? Anyway, there’s a lot one can pack into 48 years….
I remember being a little child. But Christmas, I especially remember Christmas. I remember you driving us home from the Christmas Eve service at church, and we would all have to wait patiently by the tree while you parked the car in the garage. I remember almost peeing myself with excitement. Then you would come in the house and SLOWLY take off your coat and spats. Finally, we could open our gifts.
I also remember when you bought your new 350 Detroit Cummings Diesel truck. I remember one of the first trips you took with it, to The Pas. I remember you taking me along, and fueling up at the Texaco station before hitting the road. It was early in the morning, but being the good Dad you were, you bought me a grape soda and a bag of chips. I dug into them as any child would. But before we hit Mafeking, I threw it all up on your new truck. I don’t remember you being angry at all, but just cleaning it up and being concerned for how I felt. I realized later how you must have felt. I would feel bad if someone threw up over my new truck.
I remember the times we toured the rodeo circuit together. Unlike Barry, I wasn’t old enough to compete in any of the events myself, but you enjoyed having me there just to watch you. Maybe I never told how proud I was to see you race your chuck wagon around the track. You didn’t win often (if ever), but I was still proud of you just for trying. Racing for the Queen of England was the epitome of your rodeo career. I still tell people how proud I was of you for racing chuck wagons and taking me to the rodeos.
And the camping and fishing. I will never forget the camping and fishing trips. You know that many times I complained about being bored and being cold and wanting to go home. But you were so patient. You were willing to endure the cold and boredom just for a nibble on the line. My favorite was when we had lunch and opened the thermos for some tea. The warm tea was especially appreciated on those ice fishing trips.
I also remember the hard work. Dragging hay bails off the bailer and stacking them on the rack. You were impatient with me at times, but that’s okay. I would be impatient, too. And fencing. I never liked fencing, but I knew it was an important job. I remember handing you the staples as you held the wire tight and nailed it to the post.
And then there was the wood cutting expeditions. I always thought it was a great adventure to go to the mountains and cut down trees and saw them into logs and pile them into the back of the truck. What a great memory. I felt like a true man when you let me use the axe, or the chain saw, or the wood splitter.
Dad, I would not be who I am if it wasn’t for you. We had our fights. We had our disagreements. But you always supported and encouraged me when it counted.
I remember when I was trying to raise support for going to Taiwan for the first time, and in a church meeting some people criticized me for going with a non NABC mission. I remember you, you who never stood up for anything before, stand up boldly and defend your son. I remember you speaking up for me. I remember your love.
I remember after my first year of Bible college, when I didn’t do so well academically. I remember calling you from college one night, telling you that I had failed a history course. I felt so ashamed. I remember you saying that it didn’t matter; that you still loved me and supported me. I was comforted by your words and love. I also remember you coming into my bedroom one night and saying that if I wanted to tour Western Canada with my blue grass band buddies, that you would support it and even buy us a van to tour in. Why did I not realize at that moment what a great father God had given me??
Dad, I love you. You are not a perfect Dad, and God knows I have not been a perfect son. But we are grateful for each other. I know you love me, and I can only hope you know how much I love you.
Thank-you Dad for loving me. Thank-you for giving yourself to me. Thank-you for disciplining me when needed, and thank-you for showing me how to love life and receive the good gifts God gives to all His children.
I am sending you my love and hugs from across the sea. God keep you till we can meet again next summer.
Love,
Your son,
Rod
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