As I sit contemplating this upcoming Father’s Day, I have an abundance of fuzzy thoughts bouncing around inside my noggin’—thoughts that absolutely refuse to cooperate by forming cohesive sentences which, in turn, form cohesive paragraphs and, eventually, an entire blog. So, if it seems a bit disjointed, please accept my apologies. Sometimes emotions interfere with the creative process and sometimes they give it a boost—and since my father’s illness and death, Father’s Day has been an emotional day. I suppose only time will tell if I get a mess or a masterpiece today (that was for alliteration . . . I’m not sure “masterpiece” is ever an option).
When I looked at the role a father plays in the life of his children—especially from my own perspective—I came to understand how much that role changes over the years. As we grow, so do they . . . from the daddy who plays in the floor, pulls diaper duty, and helps us learn to walk and eat and navigate our own little world, to the dad who teaches us how to ride a bike and then drive a car coupled with all the other life skills dads do best. And across the years, there’s a bit of “father” thrown in for good measure . . . the one who offers advice gleaned from their own mistakes, who is there to comfort us when our world seems to be collapsing, and who never, never gives up on us when we struggle.
Looking back at pictures from my childhood, I see the active part my dad played. I find him in the floor with this huge grin on his face. I see the love and pride in his eyes when he looked at me while I was seated in my mother’s lap. And for all the moments not pictured, there are the memories I carry and the lessons he taught me. Yes, he was my driving instructor (which is why I brake with my left foot, compliments of his days behind the wheel of an ambulance). He taught me how to change a tire (please don’t ask me to) and gave me a crash course (pun intended) on flying a single engine airplane—just in case I ever needed to know. The end result? I can fly straight forever . . . or until I run out of fuel. The important part about landing went right over my head.
Now I think back on those memories, and so many more, and realize how much he impacted my life, how much of him lives on in me. I wasn’t just shown the skills I needed to make life a bit easier—like driving—he also taught me to be compassionate and empathic, to think rationally and logically, not to be afraid of hard work or seemingly insurmountable problems, and to stand up for what I believed . . . to simply try and be the best person I could. And I know, with all my heart, that almost every son or daughter out there would say the same thing about their dad. The lessons may have been different, but the end result was the same. We turned into semi-functional adults who could survive in the world when they were gone.
And that was when it finally hit home. My father—every good father—spends his lifetime supporting his family . . . mentally, physically, emotionally, financially . . . and teaching his children how to live when he is no longer there to be an example or to answer the inevitable questions. Our job is to listen and to learn. I wasn’t always great at holding up my end of the bargain—and there are so many days I wish he was still here to hold up his so I could do better.
For a good many of us, those days are long since passed, but the lessons and the memories remain. For the rest of you, treasure whatever time you have left. Use it to continue learning the lessons and making the memories that will last long after they are gone. And don’t wait for one special day each year to honor someone who is your teacher, your mentor, your friend and, most importantly, your father.
About the author: Lisa Shackelford Thomas is a fourth generation member of a family that’s been in funeral service since 1926. She has been employed at Shackelford Funeral Directors in Savannah, Tennessee for over 40 years and currently serves as the manager there. Any opinions expressed here are hers and hers alone, and may or may not reflect the opinions of other Shackelford family members or staff.
