A Father's Day Reminisce

On Saturday we took a long car ride through the green rolling hills of Greenbrier County on our way to Watoga State Park.  The drive was a lot slower than necessary.  I guess one could even say we meandered in order to take in the full force of the country side with its fields, barns and farm houses.  It was a good reminder of the many times my dad took our family on a relaxing Sunday afternoon drive.  We would load up in his blue 1960 Chevy Bel Air with its wing shaped tailfins and take off for parts unknown.  It gave a super smooth ride and made the trip a sheer pleasure as we took in the sights.  We would always end up somewhere….a friend’s house, down on the river, at a cemetery or in the National Park.

First up on the list for this Sunday was to give Dad a call.  “Happy Father’s Day”, I said.  “You didn’t have to call”, he replied.  That’s my dad, never wanting to put anybody out.  Well, maybe there was that one time.  Dad always took work off early to attend our baseball games, and this particular one was in Knoxville.  I was starting in the field my sophomore year, but not at the bat as someone else was the designated hitter.  The guy who was my replacement had been on a long 0 for nothing streak, and as I recall had struck out four times in that game.  Dad standing at the backstop after the last strike-out yelled, “I think you’ve got the wrong one hitting, coach.”  I was in the hitting lineup the next game.  As I recall I walked and had a hit in that game which we won 3-1.  Thanks for everything, Dad.  

I look over at the Rembrandt print hanging in the living room above the piano.  In it a grey bearded father envelopes his ragged son with a welcome embrace.  To the side a detached elder brother looks on.  It’s a silent but powerful reminder of the Heavenly Father’s extravagant love for His children (1 John 3:1).  Like the younger brother I leave home for a distant country when I am entangled with the manipulations of the world and cease to hear the voice of my Father.  Like the elder brother I become alienated from the Father’s heart when my self-righteous pride leads me to feel superior to others.  Both sons valued the things of the father more than he valued the relationship with the father.    

Of course Father’s Day means that I become the center of attention, too.  So the choices of the day fall to my liking which is always a scary thing.  Who knows what kind of craziness I might concoct?  It’s that delicate balance of finding what I might really want to do and what is palatable to everyone else.   First thought was a picnic which everyone would have liked but doesn't have enough pizzazz fitting for the day.  That thought soon elevated into attending the opening of an art exhibit which also served fresh fruits, delicious cheeses, spicy meat balls and tasty lime tarts.  Score!

Then there was the Father’s Day gift.  No socks or tie for me.  This year it was a new finch feeder to satisfy our craving to see cheerful bright yellow birds outside of our window as we breakfast.  The day was capped off by sitting outside on the patio as dusk descended, and the lightening bugs began their own exhibition.  It has been a good day. 

Appropriately titled "Sunday Drive"