"Daddy, I want down; daddy, I want down", was a chant I would say over and over, when I was a little boy, until my daddy heard me, and lifted me out of bed. My bed was tall and had a ladder in the back, to get up and down; but I preferred by dad's arms, and seeing his face.
My dad told me that the best day of his life was the day I was born.
My dad came to every single one of my games and all the performances, when I was in shows.
My dad joined Indian Guides with me and took me on camping trips.
My dad volunteered to be a my camp counselor. He let me put all the other boys to sleep, as I shared about a popular science fiction book, in the dark. My dad was kind to some boys who had a hard time at camp and never shamed them.
My dad and I went to the movies together many times.
My dad was often the smartest person in the room, but he never played that card.
My dad knew how to make popcorn and hot tea. That's what we would eat, when my mom had a night out with her friends.
My dad loved cars. He had a Jaguar, four Porsche's, and many others. He, of course, taught me to drive and have a passion for fun cars.
My dad never taught a Bible class, that I know of, but he had a set of reference books, and multiple translation Bibles at his bedside.
Even though we were conservative evangelicals, my dad was curious about and enjoyed teachers from other streams.
My dad traveled to many places. His favorite, judging by his excitement upon return, was Turkey.
He loved architecture.
I got a bit estranged from my dad, while I was in college. God moved in my life, in a personal revival, after college. My first Sunday, at the church that I was a part of for about 12 years, was Father's Day. I received a revelation of Father for those next 12 years.
It was ironic that the one time my dad came and sat in on a church meeting with me, the Malachi scripture, "I will turn the hearts of the the fathers to the children and the hearts of the children to the fathers" (Mal. 4:6), was preached.
When my dad moved to Hawaii, he chose the same brand of church that I had been attending.
When my dad wrote us, sharing that the cancer had returned, it was the saddest thing I've read in my whole life.
My dad had a personal intercessor during the last year of his life. She shared with us, that God told her that my dad was, "His boy". Father was revealing his fatherhood to my dad at the end of his life here.
I met my wife on my dad's birthday, the year after he died.
Oh yes, I miss my dad and think about him often.
I love you, daddy!