Father Figure

Today’s blog post is an old post revisited and revised…it is the post that skyrocketed my readership back in early 2014. And since I am pinched for time today because of our weekend $20 jewelry fundraiser, I am going to repost an oldie but a goodie.

I think you’ll forgive me.

Happy Father’s Day to all the dads out there who are doing it right, and also to all the single moms who are doing it alone because of the dads who are doing it wrong.

xoxo

____________________________________

My grandparents were the most amazing people ever.

Everyone at church called them grandma and grandpa.

They lived on an idyllic farm in the country, with a horse named Ginger, and a garden bigger than a city block.

They had it all.

A tire swing.

A quarter-mile long driveway.

Acres of land to play hide-and-seek.

A tractor-tire sandbox.

Even a huge pine tree in the front yard to decorate with Christmas lights for the holidays.

It was a kid’s paradise.

Every Sunday after church, we would gather at grandpa’s house with my cousins to have lunch and play for hours.

My grandpa would save apples all week for us to feed to Ginger. I thought that was about the best thing ever.

Grandpa’s house is where I learned to ride a bike.

And how to pick a good melon.

My dad tried about 1,000 times to teach me how to throw a good spiral. (That is where I learned that football is not my bag, baby.)

I would arm-wrestle my uncle, he would almost let me beat him, and then he would slam my hand down at the last minute for the win.

I picked strawberries with my grandpa, and then sprawled out in the grass and ate them. If you have never eaten warm strawberries right out of the garden, I highly recommend it. (Though your experience will be lacking, unless you have a rugged grandpa-type there smelling of motor oil and Old Spice.)

Yet in all of these memories, I do not remember once ever sitting in front of a TV with my family.

We fought over the tire swing, not the iPad.

We raced to the end of the driveway and back, not to the video game console.

We stared at the stars in the sky, not at our iPhones.

And it was the happiest time of my life.

I would give anything to be back there…eating grandma’s homemade black raspberry jelly, and feeding big, crunchy apples to grandpa’s beautiful horse.

But life doesn’t work that way, does it?

Instead, I am here. Working 50 hours a week, and raising two children on my own…one of whom has Autism. I am constantly fighting for him…with insurance companies, the government, the public school system. It is stressful and exhausting.

But do you know why I have the strength and the stubbornness and the sheer will to fight for my son?

Because that is the way I grew up. It is what I witnessed as a child. It is the only way I know.

I can only hope that my own children will learn from my example and pass that legacy on to their own children.

My grandparents are both gone now.

Their house has long since been purchased and renovated into some half-million dollar property.

The tire swing is gone.

Ginger is buried in the field behind that house.

But the one thing that remains is the one thing that ever really mattered.

My grandparents taught me how to LIVE.

My grandpa taught me how to work hard. And be tough. And how to say I’m sorry. He believed that one day my dad would actually be able to teach me how to throw a spiral, and that if I kept trying, one day I would actually beat my uncle at arm-wrestling.

My dad taught me that you never give up, there is always a way to make something happen, and that sometimes you have to go in the opposite direction of your goal to reach it.

My uncle taught me that regardless of how many times you are pinned or bested by someone stronger, you still fight like you’re going to win. But winning isn’t the point.

The fight is.

I still can’t throw a football to save my life. And I never did beat my uncle at arm-wrestling.

But I didn’t give up then. And I won’t give up now.

The generations of men in my life taught me how to be father. And good thing, because I’ve had to be both mother and father to my kids.

The memories I have of my grandparent’s home and my childhood will last forever.

As will my tenacity to fight for what I love.

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  One thought on “Father Figure

  1. June 21, 2015 at 10:37 pm

    This is AWESOME! so true!

  2. Linda Pope
    June 22, 2015 at 5:38 pm

    They were my dear Aunt and Uncle. I sooooo miss them.

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