Dads are important! Studies show that a strong and loving father can have a profound and positive impact on children. Be the dad your children need! Lead your family with love. Read the true story below by Teresa McIntosh-Hall which shows us how dads are born to lead, love, nurture and protect.
In the backyard of our little house on Guilford Drive, 200 tiny, green, plastic army men are buried underneath a garage that my father built with his bare hands back in 1974. My brother’s declared the war officially over and watched as their army men were put to rest under a slab of 12-inch concrete…our future garage. Two little boys ages 9 and 11 watched as cement covered the sandpit where the summer war was fought. “It’s okay boys. Someday someone will find these little army men and they will fight again” said my father.
About once a year I drive past my childhood home to see how it’s holding up. It’s a routine that feeds some dying part of my soul. I glance at the garage and I am acutely aware that the new owners simply see an old white building that needs a good painting, but I see something more. I see a beautiful monument…a testimony really to my father’s exceptional carpentry skills and his undying love for his family.
I see a battleground where little green army men will live to fight again. I see a monument that held the many bikes, skateboards, fishing poles, sporting equipment, cars and motorcycles that my father worked long hours, in a hot factory, to buy for us. I see a monument with a basketball hoop attached to it. It’s where he taught my brothers and me to play one on one basketball, around the world and “horse” on many warm summer nights. I see a monument with a rusty, wire fence attached to it. It served as a backstop for a baseball field that my Dad built that included a pitcher’s mound and a home plate. My brother Gary was the pitcher. My other brother Johnny was the catcher. I was the fearless batter. I can still hear my dad’s advice as I stepped into the batter’s box…”Get in there, Teresa. Don’t back out. Don’t be afraid.” I can still hear the ping of the baseball off of an old aluminum bat as he hit us grounders in the backyard. “Get down and in front of the ball”, he would shout. Or my personal favorite…” don’t throw like a girl…fire that ball in there damn it!”
My father’s love of baseball was instilled in us from a young age and I am happy to report that he lived to be able to brag about the following; “My son Johnny caught for Roger Clemens…yep, it’s true.” And “My son Gary was the starting pitcher on his high school baseball team and he went on to play college ball and had it not been for a rotators cuff injury he was going places. He received a personal invitation to try out for the Toronto Blue Jay baseball team…I kid you not” and “My daughter Teresa made the boys all-star team when she was only nine years old. She had a stronger arm than some of the boys and she had the highest batting average on her softball team two years in a row.”
I see a monument (the garage) he built that we used to climb on top of so we could watch the Blue Angel fighter jets as they flew over our property during Air Show week. I still remember my brothers and I putting a blanket down on the roof and drinking from those glass bottles of Coca-Cola and watching in amazement as the air show jets soared down so low you swore the pilots waved at you. “Be careful up there” he would shout out as he mowed the grass below.
Dad wasn’t the type of person who put his kids in a bubble. He was okay with us taking chances, getting dirty and being fearless. He was, after all, a man who learned to face his own fears.
Dad served in the Army and was a member of the Special Forces Airborne unit. Dad was taught to jump out of planes and pull the chute without thinking about it. I asked him “were you ever scared?” and he replied, “Yes, I was scared but you knew you had to do it so you did it.” And his response to me during my teenage years when I was often defiant and didn’t want to follow his orders was simply “just do it.” Dad pegged that line way before Nike ever did.
Dad’s old parachute was stored up high in the attic of our garage in attempts to keep my brothers from playing with it. But the temptation was simply too great. Many windy, spring days when my parents would leave the house for errands my middle brother, Gary, would mischievously use a ladder and climb into the attic to retrieve the parachute. My memories of Gary attaching the parachute to the back of his motorcycle are so vivid and exciting that I often still laugh out loud when I think back to those glorious, childhood days. I recall standing in the side yard jumping up and down and clapping as loud as I could with excitement when the chute would soar thru the air. It was exhilarating to watch. Gary’s parachuting luck eventually ran out when the chute caught a strong burst of wind and dangerously dragged him across the yard and garden leaving him bloody and bruised. The parachute disappeared after that. I asked dad “where is the parachute?” He replied, “what you don’t know won’t hurt you.” And so we left it at that.
I admit that I would still love to touch and hold that green, vinyl Army parachute one more time. To watch her catch a burst of March wind and soar briefly in the air and to hear both of my brother’s boyish voices shouting loudly “Watch her fly! Watch her fly!”
My 73-year-old father lays in bed unresponsive, unable to feed himself or respond to our questions. The nursing home worker most likely sees an old man who is waiting for death but I see someone else…
I see a man who lived an amazingly good life. A man who married the only woman he ever loved and remained faithful to her for over 50 years. I see a man who was fearless enough to move his family from one state to another in search of work so he could provide financially for our needs. I see a man who had the discipline to wake up early, work hard all day and then come home and work some more.
I see a man who served his country honorably in the military and because of men like my dad, the rest of us live a life of freedom and opportunity. I see a man who refused to buy anything other than an American made car and he was right you know…GM did build this country! I went car shopping last spring. I admit I wanted to look at the Toyotas and Nissans and all the other ”foreign” cars that Dad hated with a passion. I didn’t though. Instead, I purchased a Chevy Truck and I am proud of my decision. Thank you for that Dad.
I see a man who loved to sit outside on the porch swing with a diet Pepsi in hand and watch the storms and the rain. When everyone else was running inside because of lightning, thunder and strong winds…my dad did the opposite. He went outside…sat under the porch he built and watched in awe. He appreciated stormy days just as well as the sunny days.
I see a man who taught my brothers and I how to swim, boat, water-ski, fish and camp. We didn’t need the boy scouts or girl scouts…we had the real deal and his name was “Dad.”
I see a man who always made sure his family went on annual vacations to Melbourne Beach. Dad loved surf fishing at Melbourne Beach. He loved walking the beach with my mom and those spring break vacations to Florida were some of the best times our family shared together.
I see a man who could not operate a washing machine, dryer, dishwasher or vacuum cleaner if his life depended on it but let me tell you something…he sure could work a chainsaw, a drill and basically any other power tool known to man. He could take apart a motor and put it back together with ease. He could fix anything broken and instruction manuals were never needed in our home. He was smart like that. I don’t know many men who can build a kitchen, master bedroom, porch and bathroom without help from anyone but my dad did it! He took our small childhood home and built a beautiful middle-class haven right on Guilford Drive.
I see a man who allowed his backyard to have a large pitcher’s mound, motorcycle trails and other eyesores that were, in fact, a kid’s paradise. When someone told my father that his lawn was looking pretty crappy, he replied; “I’m growing kids, not grass.” I see a man who proudly looked into the eyes of his five grandchildren not long ago and saw his own legacy. Nothing gave my father more joy than seeing the accomplishments of his grandchildren and I know that they will continue to live a fearless and honorable life that he would be proud of.
I see a man who loved his home state of Kentucky with her beautiful curves, hills, and hollers. We made many road trips as a child to visit our relatives and grandparents down south while Dad listened to the Red’s baseball games playing on the radio. We knew we were getting close when the reception was pretty much done…it was then that you could see the green mountains and sharp curves up ahead. I see a man who learned to swim in the deep, Kentucky River that flowed in front of his boyhood home. He would bravely jump off a mammoth size rock into the cool, flowing water below.
I see a man who grew up listening to the soothing sound of a train roaring past his childhood home as it carried coal from town to town. I see a man who loved to listen to gentle music; who taught me to appreciate the song “I Walk the Line” by Johnny Cash. The song plays in my head often and I can still hear him sing it. The lyrics are so relevant to the kind of life my dad led;
“I keep a close watch on this heart of mine.
I keep my eyes wide open all the time.
I keep the ends out for the tie that binds.
Because you’re mine, I walk the line.
You’ve got a way to keep me on your side.
You give me cause for love that I can’t hide.
For you I know I’d even try to turn the tide.
Because you’re mine, I walk the line.”
In May of 2011, my Dad was dying. He had only a few days to live. He became unresponsive but we manned his bedside around the clock. My son Harry stood at my dad’s bedside and said: “Papa I hit a triple yesterday.” Surprisingly, Dad opened his eyes and said: “that is great Harry!” Not knowing what more to say and shocked that his Papa could suddenly talk Harry said: “will you be at any more of my baseball games Papa?” My dad opened his eyes for the last time and looked straight at Harry with eyes as clear and bright as the North Star and replied: “I will.” Those were his last words. He died on May 27, 2011.
I don’t know if my Dad is here among us…unseen but watching or if he has passed on to another time or another dimension, we call heaven…but I do know one thing for certain…love never dies and my heart overflows with gratitude because of him. The things that I couldn’t always say when he was living, I can say now with ease…I love you Dad.
@copyright By Teresa McIntosh-Hall
Teresa McIntosh-Hall is a writer, blogger, social worker and political activist who throws a baseball “like a boy” thanks to her dad.
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