Daddy’s Secret
“Daddy, I need help!”
“You’re doing fine. Just hold the tip of your rod up and keep reeling.”
“I can’t! It’s too big! I’m going to lose it!”
“Just keep trying. It’s your fish, and you’ve got to reel it in.”
We were in Bayside,
Like all little girls, I was Daddy’s princess. That was easy, since I was the only daughter. When I was in trouble, my mother would threaten, “Just wait until your daddy gets home!” I would sit in my room, (her orders,) dreading the time for Dad’s return.
Once he got home from work, my dad liked to sit in his easy chair and relax a bit before he had to deal with problems. When I was finally summoned into the living room, I’d walk in, awaiting my sentence.
“Your mama tells me you’re in trouble,” he’d start the conversation. “You want to tell me what happened?”
No matter what I’d done, the sentence was usually the same. “Go tell your mama you’re sorry, and we’ll forget it.” My dad was a big softy.
Daddy never treated me differently because I was a girl. Any place he took my brother, I was invited, and usually went. Fishing trips, hikes down dry creek beds looking for arrowheads, and target practice were open to both of us, and not just “the guys.”
One thing I learned over the years was that no matter what my gender, I could achieve any goal I set if I worked hard enough. That was Daddy’s biggest gift to me. The knowledge that my being a girl didn’t change things one bit.
Daddy always challenged me. If I came home with a 95 on a spelling test, he’d tease me, “Who got the other five points?” I’d usually laugh with him, but the next week, I had a 100. I didn’t always make 100s, but I did well in school. Like all little girls, I wanted my dad to be proud of me.
No matter what I did, or where I went, I always knew that my parents were behind me. When I was 29, and my marriage ended, I found myself a single mother with three children, ages 4, 6, and 8. We lived out of state, so when I called my parents, my dad said to me, “Come home, and bring those babies with you. We’ll sort it out together.” And we did.
When I decided I needed to return to school to become a teacher, my parents were always there with a helping hand. They watched my children all through night classes in a neighboring town.
When I wanted to buy a car, I went to Daddy for advice first.
When I was ready to start dating again, I asked my Daddy what he thought about my intended. Daddy’s opinion meant a lot to me.
Right after I graduated with my teaching degree, I did remarry, but until then, my dad was like a father to my children. Their dad lived out of state, and saw them maybe twice while they were growing up. Grandpa, however, was always there. He played games, built birdhouses with them, and regaled them with story after story of his adventures in the Navy, and as a boy growing up in a small town. He ruled with an iron hand, however, and they knew that obedience was always expected.
Daddy’s number one rule was, “Always respect your elders.” My eldest son once told me about a time he’d said something derogatory about his grandmother. He never forgot the browbeating he received.
“I don’t care what you think. That’s my wife and your grandmother, and I never want to hear anything like that come out of your mouth again!” It never did, and that’s a lesson he’s never forgotten.
When I remarried, Daddy quietly stepped back into his Grandpa role, and let my husband take over the fathering one. No fuss, no bother. However, my children still tell me about how he influenced their lives, and how that influence impacts the way they are raising their children.
Unfortunately, my dad never got to be a great-grandpa. He passed away in 1998, and my first grandchild wasn’t born until 2001. He still watches over us, however, and we found that out in a unique way.
One day, Caleb, my then three-year-old grandson saw a picture I had placed standing up on the tower of my computer. He said to me, “Hey! That’s you daddy!”
“How did you know that was my daddy?” I asked him.
“He’s my great-grandpa!” he replied.
I smiled and asked, “Is your mother telling you stories about your great-grandpa?”
Serious brown eyes looked up into mine and this is what he said.
“No, Grandma. My great-grandpa talks to me.”
“Caleb, when does Great-Grandpa talk to you?” I asked cautiously.
“In my sleep.”
“How long has me been talking to you in your sleep?”
“All the time.” He shrugged his shoulders and walked away, like it was no big deal.
So Daddy, I discovered your secret. You ARE still around, and you DO know your great-grandchildren. I shouldn’t have been surprised.
When I told my mother what Caleb had said, her response was, “I’m not surprised. Your dad loved you kids a lot. He’d want to keep an eye on all of you.”
And so he does. I think that’s just wonderful.
And Daddy, just in case you’re reading this….I love you, and I’ll see you again someday.
