My Father's House

I used to mostly think of Father’s Day as another in a line of Hallmark holidays. I dutifully got my dad a card or maybe took him out to dinner if I was in the area.

Until he died and I later became a father myself.

Not that I think of it as such a special day, but now it holds a different meaning.

These days, Father’s Day reminds me just how fleeting time can be. My dad lived for 38 years after I was born, but it seems like that time went by in the blink of an eye.

My dad was a loyal and uncomplicated guy with a good sense of humor. He played catch with me endlessly. He took me fishing, which he didn’t especially enjoy, and hunting, which he did. Equipped with only an 8th-grade-education, he was able to own several businesses and do all right for himself.

He did the best he could as a single parent after my mom died.

And, he sang in church and at weddings; he loved music, especially traditional country and barber shop quartets. When I was young I thought nearly all of it was incredibly corny, and I didn’t appreciate his taste in music until long after I had left home.

But it was there – with his passion for Ernest Tubb, Roy Acuff and the Statler Brothers – that the seeds were sown for my own love of music.

No matter how long I am here with them, I hope I can do the same for my kids.