Since it's Father's Day, naturally my papa has been on my mind. I did my daughterly duty of sending him the cheesiest Father's Day card I could find. I'm still working on finding him the most perfect "dumb" gift (in order to keep up with the tradition I've formed in regards to gifts for my dad...) to present to him in a few weeks when we go down to Las Vegas. The best kind usually involve a bit of intrigue upon opening, a remote control of some kind, whirligigs, and flashing lights (ie. a remote control zamboni, a remote control helicopter that broke after it's second use....you get the idea).
Anyway, with all these Father's Day festivities wafting through the air (which—Mom, you'll be so disappointed to hear that my ward did NOTHING for the fathers. No lollipops, no Mr. Goodbars, no micro machines, no Krispy Kremes, no nothing. Someone really dropped the ball on that one, and it seems to me that we need a certain Kris Purcell to come and reform the Stonewood 5th ward...) a particular memory with my dad seems to be the most perfect thing to blog about today.
Growing up, my dad always made it very clear that hard work was a necessity in order to be successful. If I ever came home from high school with five A's and one B, that B—and it's reason for being there—was the first topic of discussion at our dinner table. But I don't remember ever really resenting that. I just knew that it was my dad's way of telling me he wanted me to achieve. In high school I became heavily involved with the newspaper staff, and I can remember that a few weeks before my senior year ended, my staff attended several award ceremonies put on by the local newspapers. I remember at one particular award ceremony, after all the awards had been given and everyone was filing out, I noticed my dad standing at the back of the room. Up until that point I'd had no idea he was there, and he had given me no indication beforehand that he would be there. And really, I think I might have been the only kid out of all the hundreds of students in attendance that had a parent there. The significance of that event grew stronger once it passed. I don't think I did a very good job of expressing to my dad how much it meant to me that he had taken time out of his work day to come and watch me receive a few measly awards. In fact, I don't think I realized how much it meant to me back then, but it hits me stronger every time I think about it now. I'm a very lucky girl, because I've never really needed to wonder whether or not my dad is proud of me.
3 comments:
That makes me want to cry....so sweet. Dad and mom were often the sole parents at all of my basketball games. Dad took off work to come and watch me play whenever possible. It sort of became the joke that my parents were parents to the entire team - because no one else's showed up. And of course, there was the time Dad stood on crutches at the R.E.M. concert with me and my friends -- the only way we were allowed to go...and the time...oh wait - this isn't my blog. I guess I should post there. Can't wait to see you!
Hi Seas. This is your dad here. I was just wondering why that last report card from BYUI, had that B on there. I don't think you ever did explain that to me.
I remember that day I went to your award ceremony and was about the only parent there, and how I watched you and your friends get the awards, and the way you reacted to other schools when they got theirs. We all thought you should have gotten more. Anyway, I remember how surprised you looked afterwards when you saw me; in fact, I got the feeling you were almost embarrassed that I was there. It's nice to now know, you actually appreciated it. Anyway, thanks for the nice thoughts about me. Love you.
Ah...the value of time and a little distance...
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