Troy

When people die, suddenly there is a flood of reflecting, and gratitude, for the impact the deceased person has had on the people's lives around them. 

It's not father's day, and he's definitely not dead, but his heroism is unsung, and he deserves to know just how grateful I am that He is my dad. 

He is a family man.

He is simple. He wears the same plaid shirts and jeans today he was wearing when I was a newborn. He shops at Goodwill. He doesn't care about what other people think of him. I like him that way.

His favorite place to be is outside. He likes hiking, and camping. But he's never been interested in reaching peaks, or hitting milestones. On Sundays, he likes to walk to no where in particular, just enjoying the fresh air. He likes going slow, and looking at the trees all around him, and enjoying the beauty of God's creations. Life is a journey for him, not a destination.

If there is one thing I never doubted, it is that he loves me.

Before I was born, he was nervous. He didn't know how to be a dad. He asked his father what to do. Grandpa Bob told him, "Just love them." And Dad did a good job.

Once I broke into tears because I didn't want to pay so much money for a prom dress I loved. So, he got out his tight wallet, and paid for it.

I don't know what about me disappoints him. He never points those parts out. He kinda skims over my faults, and just tells me when He's proud of me.

He taught me to love dancing, because he'd pump up the tunes in our dining room and let his soul carry him free of inhibitions.

He taught me to say hi to people, memorize their names, and to be interested in them and notice what they need. He is the reason I had so many friends all growing up, and was the good kind of popular.

He taught me to love learning. He's a thinker. He'd take me along to the library and spend hours in the non-fiction section, because he just wanted to learn everything there was to learn. At ward parties, he was never explaining his job to other people, he was asking them about theirs. His curiosity made me want to learn too- I wanted whatever was so delicious that he loved. (Some people ask me why I scrunch down my eyebrows when I think. It's cause my dad does.)



He taught me to get down and dirty working and be a good sport. He'd whistle while we picked rock in the field and sing me songs early on Saturday mornings so I'd get out of bed and help him build fence.



And when we were done moving pipe, he insisted we jump in the puddles. He dumped us in cow troughs and jumped with us into cold summer creeks with all our clothes on and insisted we swim around. That's what life's all about, he said.





He taught me you don't need anything to be happy. Happiness is entirely my choice.



When the work gets hard, he taught me to suck it up and just do it anyway, because I am strong, and I can do it.

He taught me to love people, and cultures, and ideas. Not by telling me to- because that's what he did.

I don't know what his yell sounds like. He has never yelled. When he is most angry, he uses a very soft voice. But to be honest, I'm not entirely sure that he ever gets angry.

When Bradley left, and he took me, a 18 year old young woman drenched in tears, and held me in his arms, and rocked me, and held me close, and didn't say anything.

When I am lonely, I call him or skype him. Usually at midnight. He's always available, and he's good for a few laughs. Being away from him is a huge downside of growing up. I miss him a lot.

He doesn't understand or appreciate ballet or dance, but he still never misses a recital, and he never fails to tell me I did a wonderful job and was beautiful.

His hard work is the reason I ate three meals a day for 18 years, and was clothed, could participate in extra-curricular dance classes I loved, and got Christmas presents.

He comes home at lunch just to eat chips and salsa with Molly. And they sing while they eat.

He loves my mom, and sacrifices every day to try and make her feel loved in return. Perhaps the imperfections in their marriage are the reason I think it is so wonderful they make it work anyway. They're not soul mates, but I'm so glad my momma didn't choose anyone else to be my daddy.

In making plans for my future, he gives me very wise advice at how I can achieve what I want to achieve, not what he wants me to achieve. His two-sentence wisdom is golden.

He helped me clean my room and pack my things when I moved down to college, and I'll never forget the moment when he put my blanket in the car, and then kinda looked at the ground and said, "It makes me sad that you're leaving. I'll miss you, but, your mother and I want you to learn how to fly." And then he went back inside to get more stuff while I cried on the driveway.  

And laughing with him is my favorite part of coming home.

I have never doubted he loves me.

He is wonderful.

Not every child gets that. I worked with countless orphans in Romania whose father's alcoholism, abuse and neglect is the reason they ended up as orphans. I have known many friends in America whose fathers have left them for other women, other hobbies, other more important things. 

I am so lucky my daddy never abandoned me.

Many people get the chance to know him a little, but I was lucky enough to know him a lot. 

I don't think I would be capable of trusting in that same love from God if I couldn't place the same trust in my father on earth.

I've never met Jesus Christ, but I think when I do, I'll find He is a lot like my dad. Happy, kind, wise. I even think Jesus wears plaid button-up shirts and jeans. He has to. That's what humble people do. Like my Dad.

I hope that someday, I can end up marrying a man like him.

Love ya Daddy.