Bucking broncos, kiddy pools, Goolie stories & how my Dad managed to lose his marbles…

"Hear O Israel: The Lord our God is one! 

You should love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your soul & with all your strength. & these words which I command you today shall be in your heart. You shall teach them diligently to your children, shall talk of them when you walk by the way, when you lie down, & when you rise up."

~Deuteronomy 6:4-7

     Last week I received a surprise package in the mail. The treasure it contained brought back some of my dearest childhood memories of my Dad…

    When I was very little, my parents left their home & families in Ohio & moved to Chicago so my dad could begin studying to be a minister at the Moody Bible Institute. It was a big commitment both academically & financially & he found himself working several jobs to support our little family.

     Some of my very first memories of my Dad are of him sprawled out on the living room floor with several books flopped open in front of him as he studied…

     This begged for an interruption…

    One of my favorite ways to disrupt him was to climb onto his back & yell, “Yee Haw Horsey!” I would dig my heels into his ribs & proceed to pull on his ears to guide him around the “corral”. Eventually he would have had enough & would attempt to buck me off. At the first quick movement, I would throw my arms around his neck & struggle to hold on for dear life.  The wild ride would come to a close when I lost my grip, & tumbled off, only to be scooped up & tickled by the "horse."
     Another recollection I have, took place during one of the most sweltering Chicago summers ever. My dad was determined to keep himself & me cool & have some fun at the same time, so he put up a little plastic pool for me. He had to set it in the alley behind our apartment building because there was no yard, not to mention no grass whatsoever. I can still see my Dad, his legs pulled up to his chin, splashing and "swimming" in that kiddy wading pool. & so it was, amidst the skyscrapers & pollution, the concrete & graffiti, that I learned a valuable lesson--you can have loads of fun wherever you are!   

   The fondest memory I have, though, is of our bedtime rituals &, of course, his stories. Sometimes he would tell us about stories about when he was a little boy. He’d tell us about riding bikes & playing marbles with his friends, of summers full of baseball, of skinned knees & climbing trees. I'm not sure why; maybe he wasn't very creative, or maybe because my sisters & I liked it so much; when it came to making up a story, he always told the same one over & over.  We sat on the edge of our seats, our eyes shining with excitement, hanging on every last word. It was a tale about a little girl named Goolie.  She had gone exploring one day, had come upon a forest & had gotten lost. Just as you were really getting into the story, he would say, "Well, it was right about this time that Goolie came across a big hole in the ground.  She walked up to the edge & looked down into it. & Goolie said, "Hmmmph."  At this point, we would all be screaming, "Daddy, what was in the hole?" & "Finish the story, Daddy!", but he never would.  We could hardly wait to hear it again the next time in hopes that he would finish it.  To this day he never has, but you can be sure we all have our own "brilliant" ideas on how it ends. 

When we were small he would help my mom tuck us in to bed at night.  I can still smell the familiar scent of Old Spice & feel the rhythm of his breathing as I cuddled up to his chest to listen as my mom read us a Bible story & then he would pray.  When he had finished praying & after seven, made up verses of "Jesus Loves the Little Children"; they would tuck us in with hugs & kisses.  Although his ministry did not always allow him to do this every night, my mother did this every night until we were grown & has been known to attempt to do this when we have come back to visit, his being part of this family tradition has made a permanent mark on my life. 

As I write & look back on this, I realize how fortunate I was to have him spend that time with me.  He had an extremely active, somewhat stressful schedule.  Yet he, together with my mom, chose to make the time in the evening to create a secure, loving home for me & the stability that I needed in my little life.    

            So now, back to the package… as I tore back the brown paper & carefully unwrapped the tissue paper, I found a little white box & a note written by my mom.  It said, “Made for you… from your Dad”.  As I lifted the lid I found the most beautiful necklace & ear ring set fashioned from some of his childhood marbles.  It had been his idea to have them made for my sisters & I for Christmas.  

 My Dad is a one of a kind… & it’s really no wonder that he continues to show the love he has for us in unique ways.  He has done it through horsey rides & kiddy pools, through prayer & songs & silly stories, & choosing to lose his marbles to his three little dark-haired, dark-eyed “squirrels” by giving us the best parts of himself.