The Front Porch

“I’ll see you later, Buddy.”  As I left the graveside, I couldn’t say anything else. 

 

Growing up Dad and I refused to say goodbye.  Honestly, I’m sure at times each of us slipped and said goodbye.  But we knew.

 

Whether feeding silage to cattle, filling the drill with beans, or driving across town to the Feed and Seed store chances were Dad and I were talking about heaven. 

 

Dad amazed me.  He didn’t focus on the streets of gold and crystal seas, nor did he talk about the freedom of pain and suffering.  Dad didn’t discuss catching up with deceased loved ones or even the absence of sin.  Instead, Dad passionately spoke of being at his Savior’s feet.  Dad couldn’t wait to see Jesus Christ and purely worship Him. 

 

As we discussed death, Dad would remind me, “You never have to say goodbye to me, Buddy.”  Dad would continue, “Promise me.  Promise you won’t say goodbye at my funeral.  You’ll see me again.” 

 

As the rest of the crowd went back to their cars, I stopped for one last look.   I’ll see my Dad again in eternity.  But I can promise you my Dad is not the first I’ll place my attention on, I too can’t wait to be with my Savior.

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I'll admit, I often laugh when the local paper carries an article or someone submits an opinion about uniting around diversity.  To be honest, the glue of a community is not what makes us different, but what pulls us together.  We find unity when we pull for our local football team in rival games.  Likewise, we find unity when we pull together to clean up the neighborhood we all love.  In other words, unity is defined by similar visions, goals, and dreams.

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“Girls, when doing God’s work we have no reason to fear.”  Dad laughed as he told me what he said to two high school girls on their way to New York City for a missions trip. 

 

The humor of his wisdom came in the middle of the trip when a big man came out of an apartment complex yelling at these two girls.  Apparently the man didn’t like the fact that the kids were being invited to a children's rally where they would see magic shows, hear stories, and enjoy snacks.  The children were encouraged to bring their parents with them.

 

“What are you introducing these children to?  You have nothing for them,” the man declared with a Haitian accent.  My Dad, realizing the man had turned his aggressiveness on the two teenage girls from church, came to the rescue. 

 

“Can I help you?” Dad asked.

 

“I have a problem with these two girls.”  The man said.

 

“If you have a problem with them, you have a problem with me.” Looking back Dad couldn’t believe it, but the man went nose to nose with Dad.  He made mention of the terrible teaching the group might introduce to ‘his people,’ making a reference to race.  My Dad had two comments for the man.

 

Dad first said, “Judging by your accent, these kids are more my people than your people.”  Then Dad asked if the man allowed his children to watch television.  When the fellow answered positively Dad then made a second point, “The message we have is much safer and better for your kids than what your television teaches them.”

 

The man, not knowing what else to say looked Dad in the eyes with the same anger and aggressiveness he started with and said again in broken English, “Good points, I would like to have the flyer for your program now.”

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Considering Dad’s big, strong hands, I found both fear and comfort. I found comfort in his hands because they protected me; and fear because they disciplined me.

 

Dad’s farmer hands, callused and scared, resulted from a lot of hard work and more than his fair share of accidents.  The most impressive of which came after an encounter with Snake.  The mostly black, Simmental-Angus, cow had one white s in her forehead and a lot of white in her eyes (for the city folk, that means she was wide eyed and crazy).

 

Snake chose one of the coldest February mornings to have her calf; she also chose to deliver on the edge of a steep cliff over the frozen stream.  Dad realized a problem when he found the calf.  The calf fell off the cliff and into the water, and had been unable to nurse.  By the time Dad reached the calf the little guy was in a heep of trouble and needed help fast.  So Dad warmed up some emergency formula for the calf and put it in an old Coke bottle with a nipple on the end.

 

Coming to the calf’s rescue Dad began to feed him.  Unfortunately, Snake failed to see the heroism in the efforts and took matters into her own… well, hooves.

 

When Dad recognized the situation he was in—with the cow charging and all—he drew back with the stick in his left hand and swung for her nose.  Snake went unaffected and continued her pursuit, but to no avail.  Dad managed to step out of her way, but that didn’t mean he was fine.  Expecting to feed the calf the rest of the bottle he looked at his right hand.  Dad saw milk and blood everywhere along with a broken bottle.  While defending himself, with adrenaline rushing, Dad’s body and hand tensed up.  Dad had the strength to bust a thick, shatter proof, Coke bottle. That’s my Dad and the hands that brought both comfort and fear.

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Businessmen, including Dad, never truly vacation.  Oh sure, we had our routine vacation, which usually meant a week on Anna Marie Island in the Gulf of Mexico.  Regardless, 900 miles away, Dad’s mind never actually left the farm.  He’d be on the phone with salesmen, employees, and landlords each day.  He’d send us kids off to the pool and say that he’d be there shortly.  After awhile, as promised, Dad would show up at the pool and have fun with his kids. 

 

 

We made memories on those trips; we’d  play, eat out, and sleep in.  Well, Dad never really slept in.  Mornings were his time—and he certainly deserved them.  Dad would put on some embarrassingly ugly tropical shirt, parade his glowing legs, don whatever crazy hat he thought made him “cool,” and find the breakfast joint where the locals hung out. 

 

Each morning we had the privilege of hearing the island gossip re-told – who saw what sharks, who caught fish the day before, and where the clams were being found.  Dad told the news as if his closest friends were seeing the sharks, catching the fish, and digging the clams.  Of course, he did so in part because he got a kick out of the family teasing him. But truth be told, Dad found delight in running with locals.  Dad, like you and me, had a desire for a sense of belonging.

Just because I think that the Orient's bow should be prefered to the Westerners hang shake, some people consider me a germ-ophoab.  But they misread.  I just don't like physical contact... especially hugs.

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