My Dad, the Cheerleader

It is good to pause and think about my dad today. I can think of a few occasions when we, as his children, specifically took the opportunity to address Dad's strengths and his example - at a retirement 'toast and roast,' his 80th birthday, his funeral. I know that we've spoken of his faithfulness, steadiness, work ethic, service, capacity for missionary work and inclusiveness to name just a few. In my mind, since his death the list of Dad's characteristics was final and absolute, and anything I would address might bring nods of agreement and invoke memories of past discussions of this very thing, but would border on redundancy. However, in the last couple of years I have remembered on multiple occasions something about him that I hadn't recalled previously. No doubt this trait comes to mind now because I spend a good deal of time talking on the phone with my adult children, and trying to think what I can do to ease their load and to encourage them in their righteous desires. So today, on his 90th birthday, I remember my dad, the cheerleader.

This takes me back to 27, mother of 4 little children, wife of a busy CPA and young bishop, stake Primary president, a tight budget. Somewhere along the line we had crossed over, my father and I, my life and his life. He worried that he had been put out to pasture and was no longer useful. I worried that I wouldn't have the strength to do all that was required of me. His vision and wisdom and experience became my back bone and rudder. Each phone call and visit would end with expressions of love and appreciation: 'you can do this, ' 'we are so proud of you,' 'you're such a good woman.' He lent strength where mine had run out. No longer a child needing discipline or a worrisome young adult making difficult decisions, now I was a protegee and a peer of sorts. Released from the strict role of father-raising-a-child, Dad used his freedom to build and to give what I needed most: belief in my ability to do what I must and the vision to see a way to do it. And he was right; I could.

As my life continues to unfold and roll around on ground he trod before me, may his example also continue to unfurl in front of me, showing me how to do it and telling me that I can.

Happy birthday, Dad. I love you. I miss you.