A Father To Me

I'm certain that no father has any clue how significant of an impact he has on his children. (Except our Heavenly Father, but he's all-knowing; He's got a bit of an advantage.) 

 I'm sure my own dad doesn't know how much he's influenced me. He once sent me a sweet note in which he wrote, 

"The day you were born was both wonderful and scary for me. Wonderful because I was blessed with a beautiful baby girl, and scary because I didn't know the first thing about little girls. But the first time I held you all I could think of was how lucky your mom and I were."

 He may not have known then, but he sure figured out how to be a father to a girly, bow wearing, ballerina. 

Growing up, I thought my dad knew all and had no weaknesses. 

I never even questioned when he told me that Ketchup was invented by "Mr. Ketch and Mr. Up". Trusting, not gullible... 

I thought his "moonwalk" was perfected. I could always count on getting a wink when we made eye contact in Sacrament meeting. 

I was always amazed when he knew how to help me with every problem on my math homework, and afterwards, could flawlessly polish my fingernails and braid my hair. 

And even though he teased me relentlessly (and still does), I thought my dad was superman. H. David Burton said, "Dads make great heroes". I concur. 

My dad travels a lot for business, and he has a time-involved job. But somehow he always made time to come to every dance recital, every science fair, and every "Daddy Daughter" youth activity. 

In The Family: A Proclamation to the World, we learn that the family is central to the Creator’s plan. Central, in my mind, means most important. 

My dad understands that. 

He always put our family as the most important thing in his life. 

It's the little things that make the difference. My dad used to take me on what he called "split night"; mom would go with one of us, and dad with the other.

We would go to my favorite book store in downtown Portland and he would let me pick out any book I wanted. To a ten year old book enthusiast, it was like being set loose in Candy-land. 

To end the night, we would go upstairs to the coffee shop, and split a giant black and white cookie - my favorite. We had some good, long talks in the upper floors of Powell's Books, and they always began with the question, "Pete, are you still a happy kid?". 

That was the part of the trip I looked forward to, because every girl wants her dad to listen to and care about her hopes and dreams. My dad did. That made a big impact on me; to know that someone cared about my (misguided) aspiration to be a "sign-putter"/ballerina combo gave me such confidence. 

President Hunter said of fathers, "A righteous father protects his children with his time and presence in their social, educational, and spiritual activities and responsibilities." As I got older and busier, the bookshop trips became fewer and farther between. 

 But my dad and I still spent one-on-one time together; whether it be at Jeld-Wen stadium, marathoning the extended edition of LOTR, or making the eleven hour trip from Portland to Provo and back again. 

And the long talks never stopped. I suspect that he will continue asking me the question, "Pete, are you still a happy kid?" for the rest of time. 

Although, now I realize that my dad has been a bearded Clark Kent all along, I know that he's exactly the father I need. I am who I am because of my parents. (Between he and my mom, I had no chance of being entirely normal.)

And to answer the question I know you'd ask if you were here, yes, I am still a happy kid. 

In homage to the unsung heroes of our day, and to my perfectly imperfect Fath, thank you. Happy Fathers Day. I Iove you!

 - Your TBG