Like Father—Like Daughter

by Saundra Rae

We must always look up…

Looking back now, over the past twenty-five years, I think about my life as a daughter to my father. Remembering just how things were, how they could have been, how I wanted them to be.

Though you are gone now, I recall many elements of your life so vividly. Through the years of seeing you consistently within the parameters of this family, I watched quietly as you gave to us the strength and courage to do the best we could.

I also remember some of those pertinent things you said:

“If you get mad, you can get glad, again.“

“Learn something new everyday.”

“If you have not learned today, you have not accepted others.”

As you aged, I watched you sitting peacefully in the yard, the yellow straw hat to cover your susceptible skin—as you would quietly drift off to sleep in the lawn chair. How “Smokey”—the sweetest cat in the world—would follow you around the yard like a puppy dog, waiting for one word from you. Animals are very distinctive in their tastes. They know when love is around.

And so, after all these years, I want to send to you a letter: a letter of knowledge, a letter of love and a letter of acceptance. Acceptance in what you gave to me: the strength to get through even the toughest times. Little did I know just how much of that strength I would need to maintain in my upcoming years.

And now, after all these years, let me give you this letter…

Dear Dad,

Life could not possibly have been so good to you. Coming from a farming background. Having to leave school early to support your entire family. Working in the hot fields to try and make ends meet for your siblings.

The house you lived in, not sturdy enough to hold the heavy snows upon the roof. No televisions, no air-conditioning, no cars; in fact, none of the amenities we hold in such “normalcy” today.

The train tracks so close to the house; bringing the trains that rumbled by several times each night; whistles blowing. Remembering the shaking of my bed while staying with Grandma and the bed bouncing and inching across the floor.

Remembering the heavily layered quilts. Being unable to move with the weight. Seeing my breath in the darkness with only my nose and eyes peeping out from the covers. Shaking at the utter coldness.

Remembering having to go to the “outhouse” since there was no indoor plumbing. And, walking through the chicken-yard to get there…having to wash my feet by the steps before re-entering the house again. Though in cold weather, the ice had to be broken first.

Remembering the pump in the front yard for cold, fresh aquifer water…so clean, crisp, cold. Remembering how, in summer, I could place my head under the pump and get a soaking.

Remembering the horse drawn cart with the ice man making his rounds. Delivering his chunks of ice, for Grandma’s ice-box.

I only had a taste of what you experienced each and every day of your young life. Perhaps the straight-forwardness of those by-gone days caused you to develop the need to be quiet, unassuming, non-demanding. Perhaps it was the work you did, which calloused your hands. The hard labor…which helped you do things with a labor of love. Perhaps that is why you did things routinely, matter-of-factly.

Perhaps it was when you stood before the congregation, sharing your stories, tears streaming down your face, that I first realized just how special you truly were. Perhaps it was then, I grew up and began to realize, without even knowing at the time, just how important you were to me.

Through the years, through the many times of my learning, falling down, getting up again…perhaps it was your strength that I finally saw. Perhaps it was this that encouraged me to become more of you and less of me.

Now, I get it. For the first time. I really get it.

It is not what we do, or even for whom we do, it is the method by which we achieve it. Through steadfastness, through courage, through perseverance.

And, there is no education that can teach us that, only kindness and honesty in our hearts. This, then, is the knowledge we achieve through the years.

The growing up.

The spirit.

The blessings we achieve.

I thank you for your hard work. Your silent diligence, after all those years of dedication, this daughter has not forgotten…

Never will.

Thanks, Dad.

Much love.