My dad was my biggest fan, my best pal and my greatest teacher. I hope you will enjoy the
"Things My Dad Told Me"
I was 6 years old. My dad and I were supposed to go to a Daddy Daughter dance that weekend at our church, but I got really sick with strep throat. I'd had strep many, many times, and this time was the one that finally pushed my parents over the edge to decide it was time for me to have surgery and have my tonsils removed.
I was pretty scared. I didn't really understand everything the doctor was telling my parents about me being "put under" and what it would feel like when I woke up and wouldn't be able to talk. This really worried me, because I have always LOVED to talk. My dad used to tell me I could talk the ear off of a stalk of corn. He wasn't wrong.
As we were leaving the doctor's office, we were heading to the hospital to get me all checked in and ready for my surgery the next morning, I remember sitting in the back seat of my dad's car, with big, fat tears rolling silently down my cheeks. My mom was nervously trying to make the hospital sound like it would be a magical place, where there would be other kids, all-you-can-eat ice cream and jell-o, and that I'd get to spend a few days playing video games and reading all I wanted to while my throat healed and my voice recovered.
My dad kept looking in the rear-view mirror, and I could tell he was worried. He didn't say anything, just kept looking back at me every couple of minutes. When we finally arrived at the hospital, my mom bustled off with registration person to get me all checked in, leaving my dad and I to sit and wait. My throat hurt so bad, and I was really scared.
What if I didn't wake up after the surgery? What if I couldn't ever talk again? What about the Daddy-Daughter dance we were going to miss? I had so many thoughts swirling around in my six-year old head. My dad could see I was troubled and upset. He sat down in the chair across from me, and in his special dad way, he said, "Hey little-bit, you're going to be ok. I can tell you're nervous though, do you want to talk about it?" Just that simple invitation had me spilling out all my emotional, and irrational, thoughts to my dad. He sat and listened and when I was done, he said, "I understand - I love you, and you don't need to be worried about anything. I'll be right here the whole time. I won't even go home tonight if you don't want me to." He took me in his arms and hugged me tight, and in that moment, I knew everything would be OK, because my dad said it would, and my dad never said something he didn't mean.
See, the thing about my dad was that he wasn't a man of many words. But he told me things. In small ways, and in big, but usually with the simplest of sentences or the kindest of gestures. As I've grown, I've realized that his wisdom was so true and right, he didn't need a lot of words to impart it. On that day, when I was 6 years old, I heard more from my dad in that one hug than some kids hear from their dads their whole lives.
