November begins for me with the remembrance of All Saints Day. This year my father would have turned 100 on November 15th. My dad never thought of himself as a saint, but I would beg to differ.
Now my dad was a good German, which meant that he was quick to express his anger but slow to show affection. It was, not only his pedigree, but his generation. He grew up during hard times. Life was not easy for him. Men of his generation were taught not to reveal weakness and the expression of affection was a signal of a serious character flaw.
As a small child, my dad was this huge man who lived a Big life. I loved to hear his stories of the day when he had the world by the tail. He was a champion golfer (a compatriot of Ben Hogan and Sam Snead), an avid outdoorsmen (hunting and fishing), and a hard working paperhanger. As a teen, my father didn't seem so worldly nor so interesting. He wasn't up on the latest fad, and his memory of past events was not in accord with what I was learning in school. I went through that typical teenage rebellion, thinking I knew more than my old man.
Despite my father's training and temperament, somehow he put up with this snot-nosed kid who never openly defied him (knowing the consequence of such a stupid act), but whose rebellion smoldered within. Somehow my father never stopped loving me the best way he knew how. Amazingly, my father was even able to learn some new behaviors (you can teach an old dog new tricks!), and during my college years my eyes were opened to the compassion and kindness that was always lying underneath the surface of this man's gruff exterior.
The older I get, the more appreciation I have for that stubborn old German (perhaps because I can be one too!). The older I get the more I see how God worked through him (although this was never his vocabulary) to raise a son who came to trust in a heavenly Father because he could trust his earthly father even when the two of us disagreed. I came to appreciate the gift I was given, rather than lament the fact that my father wasn't everything I hoped him to be.
As a father myself, I'm hopeful that I can apply the same lessons with my son (and daughter). I hope my son might know that even when we disagree (openly or not) that he is still loved. I hope my son will know that even when I am not as affectionate as he might hope, that my heart bleeds for him. And I hope that even when I cannot articulate it well, he will know that he is not alone in this universe, for there is a God who cares, even when it seems he doesn't.
My dad never believed he was good enough to be loved by God. On that point I disagreed mightily with the man; and I did not hesitate to say again and again, that our heavenly Father doesn't wait for us to prove ourselves worthy of being loved, he just loves us! I hope that my son will know that his dad doesn't' wait for him to prove himself but just loves him, because that is something I learned from Saint Charlie who would have been 100 in 10 days.
Peace,
Pal
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