Meredith’s Musings | On Dad

article by Meredith McKinnie

When I was a kid, my dad had a logging company. And he was never the type to sit behind a desk. His small, but profitable, operation relied on his physical labor alongside a small crew of workers. In our small neighborhood, Dad had to park the log truck at the end of the street. Sister and I would hear the roar of the truck and race our bikes to catch Dad as he descended the massive truck steps. Fitted in dirty overalls with a mix of grime and sweat on his face, Dad would smile and make his way back to the house, Sister and I weaving around him on our bikes. Dad was home, and it punctuated the day.

Dad had this way of being omnipresent. He was around even when he wasn’t. We knew to turn the lights off when leaving a room, to keep toys picked up from his path, and to slide that air up to keep the system from running. Dad never said we were poor, because we weren’t, but he doesn’t believe in wasting money. And anything not essential to Dad is a waste of money. We learned never to mention how much something costs – even a bargain is too much for the old man.

Dad would collect my report cards to lower my insurance rate. He beamed when I got TOPS as that saved him paying my tuition. He never bought new clothes, as the old ones work just fine. Even now, he lives in my Husband’s old coaching gear. His closet is devoted to several public schools in the area. He drives a 2007 Ford pickup. You might come across him in town when he ventures out. He’s the one in the fast lane driving 20 mph under the speed limit. He jokes that he has so many friends – everyone is always honking at him.

Husband and I borrowed Dad’s truck last weekend to pick up some lumber for a home project. Dad had left the keys on the driver’s seat. We rolled down the windows since the AC doesn’t work. Fixing it would be an unnecessary expense – wind is free, after all. When Husband drives Dad’s truck, he goes slower, as he’s used to doing in Dad’s presence. Dad never rushes anything. Now being in his 70s, people might assume physical limitations slowed him down, but he’s always been that way. He moves at his own pace and makes his own way, rarely influenced by the opinions and attitudes of others. I think my dad had self-confidence before he ever knew the term. He doesn’t care what people think, probably thinks most people don’t “think” at all.

Watching your parents age is a humbling experience. You know them as they used to be but are constantly in the presence of how they are now. Dad has inevitably softened in his old age. All that pent-up emotion that boys like him were taught to stifle comes out with abandon. He shows his emotions in spurts, and it’s a blessing to witness. Dad modeled a vicious work ethic and preached financial solvency. Those lessons are ingrained in my bones, and I can’t imagine traversing life without them. But what I’m noticing more and more is Dad’s big beating heart, a capacity to love rooted in deep observation. Dad notices, listens, and remembers. He picks up on social cues without being promoted, and he has this way of making people feel seen and important – though if he’s upset with you, you will know it – in fact, everyone will. He may not always know what to say, but he ruminates on dialogue, revisits conversations you’ve long forgotten. His mind collects the nuances and impressions of people.

Without fail, once or twice a week, the phone will ring close to 8pm. Mom is always early to bed, so I know dad is bored with the TV and looking to connect. He always greets my voice with a boisterous, “Hey!” and then proceeds into whatever reason he had for calling. I know it’s a ruse. He misses us. And like Mom with her notes, Dad always reaches out to connect. I share anecdotes of the girls’ activities, and he laughs from the belly as only someone with close knowledge of them can. Often, he’ll chat with Husband, sharing whatever joke or new bit of knowledge he’s acquired seconds earlier. After a few minutes, he’ll say he has to go, but really he doesn’t want to be a bother. I love those calls more than I can explain because they remind me of home. Dad will always be home to me, and for now, only a phone call away.