Things that make you cry big, wet tears...

Alternative title: Happy Father's Day!

My dad. Someone I've spoken of before. There aren't many things in my life that bring me to instant tears. Okay, who am I kidding!? I just sobbed my way through a book and movie! I'm a big baby, especially lately... no good reason, I just enjoy a good cry.

Anyway... my dad makes me cry like nobody's business. Good tears, usually. Awhile ago, my dad wrote this:

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DESCRIBE YOUR FAVORITE MEMORY OF OUR FAMILY

My family is so large that there is a gulf of sorts that somewhat separates them. This is mostly in the area of age. For example: The oldest only lived in the same house for the first 6 months of the youngest's life. This has not kept them from becoming close but has greatly limited the number of experiences they have had together. This of course is true even when the difference in age is not quite as extreme. As a consequence, notable memories of the entire family as a group are also rare. Individual memories or memories of smaller groups are easier to recall.....

I remember a spontaneous game of soccer in the back yard that left my poor, out-of-shape body flat on my back, heaving to catch my breath and trying to laugh at the same time.

I remember being gathered 'round the table to play a board game that lasted way too long and how exhausted we all were when it was finally over.

I remember an older brother with a gift for helping, teaching and playing with his younger brothers and sisters.

I remember tearing down and rebuilding a porch and putting a roof on the house and the tremendous help a couple of the boys were doing this.

I remember a loving child with true gifts in both reasoning and art, who had difficulty making friends and the pain it caused him.

I remember awards for gymnastics all over the house.

I remember a little girl who worked with me for 12 hours cutting and hauling firewood, hours after her older brothers and sisters had all quit.

I remember beautiful piano music, vocal harmonies and made up dance routines that shook the living room floor.

I remember fantastic report cards; many, many fantastic report cards.

I remember at least a half dozen kids taking over my waterbed on Christmas eve.

I remember when nine children and two adults took up an entire pew in Church and the pride I felt, looking down that row at some of the best behaved children there.

I remember being present when nine of God's children came into the world. Thanks for the memories.

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This is one of those things that makes me all kinds of teary. My dad's memories. I have quite a few of my own.

I remember a dad who spent many hours laboring in the yard alongside us.

I remember bonfires and burnpiles. And many Toasted Marshmallows and Hot Dogs.

I remember making my own girly version of a Pinewood Derby car, with his help of course.

I remember (pardon the political incorrectness) Indian braids that my dad would weave into my unruly hair, so that I could go to gymnastics.

I remember cuddling on Sunday mornings. That very same waterbed.

I remember Father's Blessings. Even the one right before I got married.

I remember Woodsman's Specials! Time to introduce these to my own herd.

I remember a father who lovingly spanked. Really. With love.

I remember a man who could fix anything! Even if he didn't enjoy it.

I remember his smell (Old Spice).

I remember a father who was smarter than I was (and still is.)

I remember a dad who leads by example.

I remember hands that looked a bit weathered and arthritic... and that I still love to hold.

And now. I have a husband who is a father. And I wonder what our children will remember.

For you, Dad. (Who is lost in the abyss that is Canada.)
And For you, Matt. (Snoring on my couch.)