Happy Father’s Day Dad!
As you can see, Ali and I thought a good idea this year was to write you and Mom a note on Father’s and Mother’s Day respectively, especially since I’ve been deployed and this is our first official year as celebrators. Obviously this father thing is still relatively new to me, but I want you to know what an outstanding role model you have been for me. I hope to emulate all of your many qualities over the span of my life with Emmy (and whoever may follow her). You have managed to provide for our family throughout my life, instill in my brothers and I all of the qualities men and fathers should have, nurture your relationship with Christ and teach us the importance of faith in our lives and in the growth of our families, and do it all while maintaining a strong and steady relationship with all of us. The example you have set as a man, father, leader, Christian, and friend is something I can only hope to partially achieve in my life with my family.
I know I haven’t spent nearly as much time at home as my brothers have this past decade, and there have been a lot of family milestones I’ve missed. But I can say with absolute confidence that every day regardless of whether I talked to you or not, I’ve taken something you’ve taught me and applied it in my life in an attempt to better myself, my family, my relationship with others, or my unit. I am constantly attempting to build a balance in my life, an approach in my work ethic, an ability to build and maintain relationships, and a leadership style both in the home and at work that resembles yours, because I know how overwhelmingly positive your influence has been on those around you in all of these areas.
My only hope is that I do as good of a job raising Emmy and my family, and finding that delicate balance in all areas of my life, as you have done with our family.
I love you. Happy Father’s Day! Let’s play some golf when I come home on leave.
Love,
Nick
My Dad,
I respect you times infinity squared, and for once I'm not exaggerating. After you and I read, "Love and Respect," by Dr. Eggerichs, I understand that saying "I respect you" to a man has the same weight as saying "I love you" to a woman. And on this Father's Day, Dad, it is my hope to share a few examples of how I have derived so much respect for you. As an adult, I have a greater appreciation for how the "little" things you've done over the years have carried with them much deeper, more profound life lessons...
I respect you for coming home from a full day of work and school only to stay up the remainder of the night to care for a couple of newborn twins, who had adopted not-so-convenient opposite schedules, so that Mom could have a few hours of unbroken sleep. Without having slept at all, you suited up to repeat your daily grind. I greatly admire your sense of responsibility.
I respect you for capturing our Hawaiian family vacation on video, complete with an extremely slow panoramic shot from our lanai...When watching it after our return home, I used to fast forward to get to the next part. Now motherhood has brought with it an understanding of the rarity of peaceful moments to just sit back and enjoy the view. How brilliant of you for burning the image of your "happy place" on film.
I respect you for always finding a way to provide for our family no matter how frustrating and unpredictable corporate America was to you. Your work was literally a labor of your love for our family.
I think so fondly of the time that you took us kids to the park to ride bikes...And while Kris, Jamie and I buzzed around, you patiently taught my best friend how to pedal a two-wheeler. It's those little acts of kindness that people remember, and you are the king of them.
I respect you for picking Kris and I up from middle school in Grandpa Odell's "vintage" camper. At the time, I was horrified to see the camper among the sea of slick black BMWs, Lexus' and Mercedes in the usual after school traffic jam. You knew this, and elected to make yourself even more visible in the pick up line, by honking the horn and hanging out the driver's side window to yell to us where we should meet you. I thought, at the tender age of 11, that I might die of humiliation. But I didn't. I am now grateful for your memorable lesson in humility. It's the trait I value most in others.
I respect you for signing Kris and I up to play soccer and then coaching our team. You wanted to expand our list of interests beyond just boys...Despite the fact that we no longer play soccer and we are both now married to boys (I mean men), I now appreciate that when those men aren't around, it's crucial to have other means of deriving happiness.
I respect you and mom tremendously for matching Kris and my babysitting money so that we could afford to buy our first car,"The Twinkie," a 1991 canary yellow VW cabriolet convertible complete with white pleather interior. You preferred something more practical with a better track record of reliability. We preferred something that would make us look cute driving around town. Knowing that changing both of our minds (and Mom's) was an effort in futility, you reluctantly surrendered. So when the honeymoon phase had passed, and the car began breaking down (as you had long before predicted), you taught us how to fix it...We were, without doubt, the only girls at Monte Vista who knew how to change a spark plug. The fact that we could be found getting our hands dirty under the hood at all the least opportune times seemed to drain the coolness out of our way cool car. How grateful I am to you for teaching me to be self-sufficient, it is what sets apart the successful from the unsuccessful military wives.
I respect that, in mom's absence, you showed up with all of the other cheer moms at our Homecoming rally senior year. It was probably the first high school rally you'd ever attended, to include your own. You cheered us on while Kris and I completed our big routine and then managed to find the perfect balance between offering congratulations and support to the one of us who won the crown and to the other who was defeated. Through example, you show the importance of supporting each other, even if doing so necessitates that we reach outside of our comfort zone, it's always worth it in the end.
I respect your keen ability to respond quickly and appropriately in every situation. Such was the case with our fateful Christmas Eve fireplace fire. As soon as I saw you enter the chaotic room, fire extinguisher in hand, I knew that everything would be ok. While the rest of us finished our wine on the driveway, mingling with the firefighters, you assessed the damage and reconfigured the furniture so that the Christmas merriment could continue. Your example of calm leadership helped to prepare me for many emergent situations working at the hospital, where there's never time for panic.
I respect you for putting on a happy face, providing me with the encouragement that I so needed when we moved to Arizona for college. While I was sure that I was moving to hell on earth (the August temperature was stuck at 115 degrees), you sought out every positive that you could to help me to see the good in my decision. I know it wasn't easy for you and mom to have two of us fly the coop at once, but you never let it show from the moment we left the driveway at home until you and mom pulled out of our dormitory parking lot. You knew the importance of us flourishing in our own space. My independent nature, that was solidified in college, has served me well now living thousands of miles away from you and mom. The one thing that still hasn't improved is that I still miss you.
I respect you for still answering the phone when I call knowing perfectly well that I most likely need technical support. Rarely ever do you redirect my calls, no matter how busy you are.
I respect that every time we talk, the first thing you ask is how Emmy's mommy is doing. There is something about the sound of your voice that strips me of whatever tough exterior that I am struggling to uphold and renders me incapable of telling you anything other than the truth. Despite the fact that, as a man, all you want to do is fix my heartache, you know that all I need is for someone to listen without the knee-jerk response that "it'll be ok." I respect and commend you for figuring out my female brain (which is often times more perplexing than the standard model, just ask my Nick.)
So today, like everyday, I thank God for blessing me with such a remarkable and respectable Dad. I hope that I can impart on Emmy the many wonderful life lessons that you have, even inadvertently, impressed upon me. I love you, Dad.
Respectfully,
your ali
