Today is a tough entry. I have two fine children: Rachel, a RN at St. Francis Hospital; Zachary, a surveyor; and I have two grandchildren through Rachel, Mason (age 3 years) and Davis (a few days old). I’m not sure though I could call myself a good father, or that I even know what a good father is. I think my father was a good one. He was strict, but not too overbearing, totally devoted  to our family, and the hardest working man I’ve ever seen.  I think of this song by Holly Dunn when I think of him:

I remember Daddy´s hands, folded silently in prayer.
And reaching out to hold me, when I had a nightmare.
You could read quite a story, in the callouses and lines.
Years of work and worry had left their mark behind.
I remember Daddy´s hands, how they held my Mama tight,
And patted my back, for something done right.
There are things that I´ve forgotten, that I loved about the man,
But I´ll always remember the love in Daddy´s hands.

Daddy’s hands were soft and kind when I was cryin´.
Daddy´s hands, were hard as steel when I´d done wrong.
Daddy´s hands, weren´t always gentle
But I´ve come to understand.
There was always love in Daddy´s hands.

I remember Daddy´s hands, working ’til they bled.
Sacrificed unselfishly, just to keep us all fed.
If I could do things over, I´d live my life again.
And never take for granted the love in Daddy´s hands.

Daddy’s hands were soft and kind when I was cryin´.
Daddy´s hands, were hard as steel when I´d done wrong.
Daddy´s hands, weren´t always gentle
But I´ve come to understand.
There was always love in Daddy´s hands.

Daddy’s hands were soft and kind when I was cryin´.
Daddy´s hands, were hard as steel when I´d done wrong.
Daddy´s hands, weren´t always gentle
But I´ve come to understand.
There was always love …..
In Daddy´s hands.

My daddy had a hard life–much harder than mine, and I wonder how he kept his ideals so intact. He was one who ALWAYS kept his word. For example, he promised his mother he’d never drink, and he never has, and as far as I can tell, that’s the only reason he hasn’t. God knows when I was growing up I gave him enough reason to. Here’s a short list of what I think a Father is:

A father is a trainer.  (he Hebrews said, “He who doesn’t teach his son a trade teaches him to steal.”)

A father is a protector. (He often protected me from myself)

A father is a teacher. (I could have learned more)

I won’t see my father on this father’s day, but I will call him. How can I tell him how much I love him? How can I tell him how grateful I am for all he did for me? I can only try.

More tomorrow.