The thing to remember about fathers is;
                    they're men.
A girl has to keep it in mind:
  They are dragon seekers,
              bent on improbable rescues.

          Scratch any father,
          you find someone chock full of qualms
              and romantic terrors;

Believing change is a threat
      like your first shoes with heels on,
              like your first bicycle
                      it took such months to get.
2
And you will ask me
at some time in the future,
if you really did teach me these things,
because underneath all the loving and giving
is a humility that makes you surprised
when people compliment you.


It's probably just as well you didn't realize
how great you are, Dad.

You'd be intolerable if you knew!

I love you.
Stephani
1
________________________________
Acknowledgements:
[1]  -Special Praise for a Dear Dad ~Stephani Keer
The above is from the Calgary Sun on Sunday June 16, 1985 - Father's Day
(the footnote reads: Stephani Keer's column appears on Page 11).
[2] ~Phyllis McGinley
[3] ~Jim Valvano
[4] ~Author Unknown
[5] ~Mario Cuomo
[6] ~Harmon Killebrew
[7] ~Friedrich Nietzsche
[8] ~Frederick Buechner, 'Whistling in the Dark'
That love taught me to love;
the acceptance of me as I am;
showed me how to accept others.


Your pride in me taught me self-respect.
Your honest tears taught me that emotions are okay.
Your laughter taught me fun.
Your faith opened the door to believe for me.


Your silent patriotism –
you never did show me your medals, you know.
I had to find them for myself –
developed in me the love I have for this country.
                                                 My father gave me the greatest gift
                                         anyone could give another person,
                                 he believed in me.
3


         One night a father overheard his daughter pray:
         “Dear God, Make me the kind of person my Daddy is”.
                 Later that night, the Father prayed,
                 "Dear God, make me the kind of man my daughter wants me to be." 4


I watched a small man with thick calluses on both hands
work fifteen and sixteen hours a day.

I saw him once literally bleed from the bottoms of his feet,
a man who came here uneducated, alone,
unable to speak the language,
who taught me all I needed to know
about faith and hard work
by the simple eloquence of his example. 5


                         My father used to play with my brother and me in the yard.
                         Mother would come out and say,
                 "You're tearing up the grass."

                 "We're not raising grass,"
         Dad would reply.
 "We're raising boys." 6


It is much easier to become a father than to be one,
for any man can be a father,
but it takes a special person to be a dad.

                 When one has not had a good father,
                 one must create one.
 7


When a child is born, a father is born.
 A mother is born, too of course,
 but at least for her it's a gradual process.
         Body and soul, she has nine months
         to get used to what's happening.
                 She becomes what's happening.

                 But for even the best-prepared father,
                 it happens all at once.

                 On the other side of a plate-glass window,
                 a nurse is holding up something
                         roughly the size of a loaf of bread
                         for him to see for the first time.
8


God bless Stephani’s dad – may he represent the majority – we’re still out here.

And bless her for giving him recognition.

                                 Score one for the good guys!

                         Don't make a baby if you can't be a father.
Dear Dad,

It seems a long time
since we've had a chance to talk,
except superficially,
and that's my fault.

You are always there for me,
as you have been ever since I was born.

Have I told you lately
how much that has always meant to me?
Probably not, because, like so many people,
I have trouble telling those I care about most
just how much I really love them.

Even though I don't see you as often as I'd like to,
I am aware, every day, of your presence in my life
and the influence you have had on me.

I don't remember being a month-old baby,
but  I do remember every time I look at the old broken down rocking chair,
the story of how you sat up with me the night before my christening,
rocking me because I had colic and wouldn't stop crying.

I also remember the other part of the story
- how the rocker broke
and you hurt yourself
to make sure I wasn't hurt.

I vaguely remember our time in Kelowna,
when you carried me around the orchard,
even during busy times,
so I could have the fun of picking the fruit
that was way out of the grasp
of my anxious two-year-old hands.

And I do remember
that when I decided to catch minnows with your shoes,
you didn't punish me.
You just made sure
that I didn't get too deep into the water.

I remember sitting on your lap as a child,
laughing and playing.

I will never forget the day I flung back my hand,
hit you in the face
and knocked out your partial plate.  

It took you over an hour
to convince me to come out from under my bed,
to make me believe
I hadn't knocked out
half a dozen of your teeth!

I think a lot of people would have laughed at me
and given up,
figuring I'd come out eventually.

Later, I remember you coming home from work
and stripping the old paint off the walls of my room,
just so could paint it in the pink and grey
that I decided that I wanted.
Did I ever thank you for that?

And did I ever tell you
how much the corsages you gave me for musical recitals,
meant to me?

To this day when I smell roses,
I think of them.

Yellow roses are still my favourites
- and you were the only person
who ever gave me corsages made of yellow roses.

There were all the times when you gave up your evenings
to drive me to music lessons
and Girl Guides and church events.

The distance wasn't very great,
but you cared so much
that you wouldn't let me walk home in the evenings.

There were all the times you bandaged my cuts and bruises
and sat beside me when I was upset about something.

I know now some of the worries and fears
that were plaguing you at the time,
but always you protected me from them.

My upset stomachs
or childish heartbreaks
were always given priority.

I remember the big gifts you gave me,
but more than those,
I remember the small things
- the special pen that I wanted,
the ice cream cone at the zoo,
the tiny plant
because I wanted to see
if I could grow something,

the small tins painted to match my room
so I could store my childhood treasures in them,
the 5 cent stamp I needed
to complete a series
that took you weeks to find.

Those are the tangible things, Dad,
and they were important
because every one said
"I love you."

But they don't begin
to touch the intangible things you gave me.

There was always your love
and your unquestioning acceptance of me,
even - maybe especially –
at the times I just couldn't accept myself
and what I had done.
________________________________________________
MorningStar Inspirations from
Dawn Cove Abbey
Roadside Assistance For Your Journey Through Life
________________________________________________
Walks from the dark into Light
~From the eBook: "One! The Journey hOMe", by Klaas Tuinman MA, © 2007-2017
Special Praise For A Dear Dad
This is my dad, who lives on   
in memory, always.

He taught me more than I
think he was ever truly  
aware of.

Thank you, dad.
Happy Father's Day
~Klaas