Summertime for teachers is a rollercoaster of emotions. First, there’s the “phew, we survived!” phase, where we recover from the end-of-the-year chaos and celebrate with no alarm clocks, pajamas till noon, and deep couch sitting. Then comes the “family bonding extravaganza,” where we pack in all the summer fun and trips we can think of, sprinkled with a generous heap of “mandatory fun,” also known as professional development (which seems to get longer as the summers get shorter, but I digress). Finally, the last little bit is a whirlwind of relaxation, family time, mild panic, and frantic planning for the new school year. We purposefully don’t look at the calendar and pretend that everyday is the first day of June. Until someone asks the dreaded question, and we’re forced to face the reality that we are indeed not retired.
I accidentally looked at the calendar this week. I even counted the number of days I have before I report back to school on July 24, which is exactly 13 days from the time this article is published. It is officially my shortest summer ever, but it has been one of the most meaningful.
Since Momma passed away last October, I’ve had the joy of spending more time with my daddy. Growing up, Daddy worked and traveled a lot. He was always there for the important moments, teaching moments, and crisis moments, and he always made sure we had at least one big family vacation each summer. But, I don’t remember just hanging out much (probably because I wasn’t paying attention). As an adult, Daddy and I have been on mission trips together to Haiti, just the two of us. During those times, I was in “mission” mode, and I’m sure I didn’t take notice of the nuances of his personality that make him uniquely and individually himself. The same is true of the multiple family vacations we have taken over the years with our children. However, recently my husband and I have shared lots of meals, day trips, and regular moments together with Daddy, and I am paying attention.
This week, I was able to take our daughter’s babies to visit Popa, his chosen grandparent name. I watched him tear up as he remembered their mommy sitting on his couch, watching “Barney”, and eating a snack, safe and content. It made me reflect, too.
Growing up, I can see that Daddy was a wonderful provider. He loved us by working hard and creating a good name for himself in our community that would be a blessing for our family. I can look back at pictures and videos now of him with our children, and I see his nurturing and playful side that I may have missed in the hustle of raising babies. I remember watching him create traditions with them like going on afternoon boat rides across Logan Martin Lake to get peanuts, and eating “Popa-corn” on the couch with them, watching “Barney”, all snuggled up under his arm, safe and content.
These memories are mingled with the most recent images of him caring for Momma. Being the main caregiver for someone with a terminal illness is exhausting and devastating, yet Daddy did it with perseverance and grace (though he will say he was frustrated sometimes, it was not the norm). Outwardly, he maintained the face of strength and stability, while quietly bearing the heavy weight of grief. He got up everyday, laid out her medicine, helped with her personal needs, prayed and read God’s Word with her, cleaned, cooked, and cared.
In thinking about both of these sets of memories and the present, the consistent threads are: dependability, nurture, humor (with a hint of sarcasm), and love. These threads, intertwined with the fibers of his burning heart for Jesus, the passion of his Italian heritage, the melody of his life song, and the thrill of his adventurous spirit make up the rich tapestry that is my daddy.
I know I am blessed. Not only did I have a good daddy growing up, my children and theirs have a wonderful Popa. What’s more, I still have him as an adult, with enough perspective to truly appreciate him. I get to seize moments together and learn from him. I get to hang out with him in the summertime, have breakfast at the Waffle House, and watch him make core memories with his great grandchildren.
Maybe your summer has been non-existent or too short. Maybe your dad has gone on to Gloryland or was never really present in your life. The encouragement for today is this: God’s love for you is constant and unwavering. Just as the summer sun shines brightly, His love and grace are weaving a tapestry of beautiful moments just for you. May you embrace these moments, cherish the memories you create, and know that you are deeply loved by a Heavenly Father.
I love you, Daddy. Thank you for loving us like Jesus.
