Happy Father's Day

Hi Dad;

Happy Father's Day!

Do you remember over a quarter century ago when I was attending Houghton College (back in the dark ages) and the rest of the family had moved to Texas? You had been trying to adopt a child from Korea, and had a hard time making all the paperwork settle. At long last, the plans fell into place, and you were to fly to Chicago and pick up your new daughter. It made such sense to combine finishing closing down the New York place with the trip to Chicago (as I remember it, a piano was involved somehow).



This was before the convenience of email, and as a poor college student, I only had access to a phone in the hallway. I mostly read the details in letters from Mom. That week was a bit bumpy weather wise. There was an unexpected snowstorm that was delaying travel and grounding planes.



That meant nothing to those of us ensconsced in our little ivory tower. Our whole world was going to class in the next building over, running for meals in the basement of the dorm, and sitting in the library reading until your eyes watered, scribbling little notes to yourself since there were no copiers. I was totally immersed in classes, oblivious to the outside world, aware only vague that the snow sifting past my classroom window was in fact pretty heavy. The professor was lines deep into the poetry of John Donne, engaging us as best he could in lengthy philosophical discussions, asking us to think beyond ourselves, to grasp experiences far beyond our daily worlds.



I was startled by a knock at the door - an unheard of thing! It could only be something horrible. I remember going sheet white when Dr. Basney called my name, pointing his chin towards the door. Visions of telegrams bearing tidings of someone's death flashed through my mind as I gathered up my notebooks and bookbag and threaded my way past the clunky wooden chairs with the little desktops, and exited the dormered room. Everyone was as uncomfortable as I.



There you stood in the hall, dripping wet from the snow in a bulky overcoat and galoshes. I blinked. "Dad?"



"Sorry, I didn't mean to get you out of class. I was passing through and thought I would stop and say hello."



It didn't register. You were in Texas as far as I knew. What in the time of need did you mean, you were passing through?? No body passes through Houghton. It's in the middle of nowhere. You have to walk five miles just to find a bus. How on earth did you GET there?



Quickly, I suggested we go to my dorm where we sat in the lounge. Conversation wasn't forthcoming. I had to work to pull the pieces from you. You were flying from NY to Chicago to pick up a baby. Your flight was grounded in Buffalo. You rented a car - whoa! RENTED a car?? You never spent money on luxuries like that. There was enough for basic needs, but nothing fancy. And in the middle of such a trip with a new baby and everything, I couldn't imagine what made you do it! Not only that, but once you got on campus, you had to figure out where I was. You tracked me down through the registrar who told you my schedule and where the class was being held. Unbelievable.



You spent less than a hour there. I offered you lunch, which you refused. You were worried about the weather and getting back to Buffalo. Before I barely had time to realize you had come to see me, you were gone, leaving me in a whirl of confusion and wonderment.



It was probably the first time I came to know how important I might be to you. Oh, I know you worked hard to provide for us, disciplined us when we went astray (more often for some of us than others), and took us on interesting vacations exploring the entire country via campgrounds and scenic routes. But that was general for the whole family. I had always felt I was just one of eight to you, another kid hanging around the place.



Your actions that day spoke volumes to me. I thought about it for a long time. Inspite of the fact that we hadn't had anything like meaningful conversation, you had sought me out for no other reason than to see me. And you had gone to great lengths to do so. A thousand hugs and kisses would not have convinced me of your love in such a meaningful a way.



From time to time, you do that sort of thing and it always catches me off guard, always makes me reflect for a long time. There was my visit to Texas when you took a day off work to take me to see the Alamo, the time when, after speaking at Michael's funeral, you gave me a hug - I collect these precious moments. You once told me that there are many ways to show love, and that it doesn't have to follow some prescribed or showy pattern.



It has taken me awhile to learn your language, but I have indeed heard you. Now if I could just figure out how to say it back in your lingo, I would be most pleased. Someday I may just figure that out. Until I do, you will have to settle for my way of saying I love you, which is to simply say, "I love you."

So, I love you, and have a great Father's Day.

Thanks.
One of many,
Appreciated for who I am,
Happy to be called your daughter.

Esther.