Rediscovering Dad on Father's Day

I visited with my dad yesterday after church, for Father's Day, while some of our adult kids and some of the grandkids were home with my husband. My dad lives on a mountain in Southern Indiana and since his wife died in January, he's stayed busy helping her grandson. I hadn't seen him in person since the funeral.

So I had my dad all to myself yesterday, and that was SO pleasant. We talked about everything and got caught up, we laughed hysterically over silly things, we went out to eat and fought over the bill, and we swung together on the front porch, kicking over a bench in the process, just because we felt like it. I hadn't done those kinds of things with my dad since I was really young. (Well, back then I didn't fight over the bill.)  The silliest thing we laughed at?  He accidentally said "hale of bay" instead of "bale of hay," and we laughed until we both had achy abdomens.

My best memories of my dad when I was little were those piggyback rides; the standing-up rides on the front of his scooter when I felt like I was flying and I was yelling "ZOOM ZOOM ZOOM!" at the top of my lungs because I was sure you had to do that; and the go-cart he constructed so we kids could ride around on the pavement of an old, unused flight line.  We didn't have much, but my dad could figure it out.  He found an old axle and was able to use that to build us a vacation trailer that the five of us could take on camping trips, pulled behind our shiny big black Cadillac.

We are similar, Dad and I.  We can have fun the same way, but I also get my practical nature from him, the desire to have my life organized, and to do things right.  Neither of us are decorators, but we want to know where our tools are.  My tools are paperclips, pens, pans, and spices.  His are large and motorized.  The "A," "the "L" and the "N" on my keyboard are missing the paint, but my flying fingers know where to find those keys.  And I should be able to find my green food coloring if it was put back after the last kid-or-grandkid's baking project. I dot my i's and cross my t's.

We are similar, and we have some similar interests, but Dad and I speak different first languages. I speak computer and office-y things.  My dad speaks machinery things. Yesterday, Dad took me on a tour of his workshop, and that was a big deal. It's a huge metal building on his property that houses his RV and his vast tool collection, from antique tools he picked up in the 70's to cool 21st Century laser tools. Want 6 chain saw blades and the tool to break one and fix it? He's got 'em! Want a big tractor with a winch to pull a car out of the ditch and be a hero? He's got it! Want a hundred duplicate keys made? Yep, he can do that too! His next big project: a saw mill to cut boards for building a house! Did I tell you my dad's in his mid-80s?

I entered his world yesterday, and he taught me some of his language, in the same way someone might learn Hebrew -- You know what this is? It's a band saw. You know what this is? It's a winch. (I read that on the side!) You know what this is? (I jump!) It's a socket wrench. It won't hurt you! That up there? It's an antique blow torch! It was all new to me. It's a little scary to the uninitiated. But I found it fascinating. This is who my dad is, in his own environment, not visiting us in ours.

I don't know how many nouns I will retain from that experience, but my dad was inviting me into his world, and I'm thinking there should be a project for us -- something we can build together or fix together, something he can teach me before one of us dies or the world comes to an end. I need to see him more regularly and more often, and not just so I can "keep an eye on him because he's getting old."  It's for me!  Even making a pizza with power tools would be fun, if I did it with my dad. I know to me, the prospect seems somewhat scary, way out of my comfort zone. I don't even mow our grass! But I would like to try, to be more comfortable in his world and learn to speak his language, and to show my dad that I treasure him.

When we parted, there were big hugs, the kind that meant something, not the obligatory kind.  Under the circumstances, social distancing was just not possible. He had also figured out how my phone charger worked, told me my car sounded like it needed a muffler, and gifted me a half-bottle of something he uses for charley-horses, since we both suffer from those.  

Daddy!  I love you so much!  I'll be back!