From The Editor
Editor's Note
"Deep summer is when laziness finds respectability." – Sam Keen
So, I have been very busy outdoors, tilling the garden, landscaping and cleaning the pool. A typical beginning to a typical summer, and -- although my wife may disagree -- I have not had much opportunity to be lazy, at least when it comes to outdoor chores (indoor laziness is a whole 'nother story that I have to work on).Despite my yard work, I do manage to play some catch with my youngest. In the shade. In the morning and evenings. When it isn't a million degrees or raining. He bought me an early Father's Day present with his own money -- a baseball glove. I had told him I couldn't catch a hardball with my bare hands, especially when he hits it with his bat. That problem is now solved. So, weather permitting, I'm out there fairly regularly playing ball with the little guy.
With Father's Day upon us, my thoughts naturally drift to dear old Dad -- gone but certainly never forgotten.
Dad taught me so much. He taught me how to play catch and how to catch fish. He taught me how to hammer a nail and how to saw lumber. He didn't teach me how to drive, however. Mom was awarded that privilege.
Now, whenever I play catch, or mow the lawn, or toil in my garden, or hit my thumb with the hammer, I think a lot about him. And as I grow older, I can see our similarities a bit more clearly. Before I was married, I had little interest in gardening or planting trees. However, once I settled down, moved out to the country and started a family, many of the things Dad enjoyed began to make sense to me. When we moved into our new home he gave me his old lawnmower and then proceeded to mow the front yard. He also gave us a lot of plants: trees, shrubs, grapevines and flowers. Most did very well, except for a camellia cutting. It remained little more than a stick with a few leaves.
When Dad became ill, all of his gifts took on much greater significance. I transplanted the poor little camellia, but it didn't do very well. Sadly, neither did Dad. On the morning he passed away, I returned home from making funeral arrangements, weighed down by a deep and profound sorrow. As I got out of my car I was inexplicably drawn to the plant. As I approached, I noticed something unexpected: a beautiful and vibrant red flower, blooming for the very first time.
For me, this was more than just a flower; it was validation of life and of love. This was a gift from God assuring me everything was going to be all right.
It was Dad, smiling to me from beyond the grave.
I miss you, Dad. Happy Father's Day. §
