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A Letter to My Dad on Father's Day

What One Does on Father's Day

I've heard it said that, of any holiday, Mother's Day is the one when the most phone calls are made. But, as the story goes, the most collect calls are made on Father's Day.¹

My only experience with a collect call was with my dad, ironically, and I was five. I answered the phone, and some strange lady kept asking me if I'd accept a collect call from a Mr. John. Being five, I had no idea what a collect call was nor what to do. Until my dad, understandably frustrated because it was the 1980s and he was having to make a collect call in the first place, interrupted the operator and said, "Matthew, just get your mother."

From that point on, I've had a rather curious aversion to answering the phone.

Well, this Sunday is Father's Day, and I'll be giving my father a call — on my cell phone, not collect. Thankfully, my dad and I already talk fairly frequently — probably once a week, on average. Several months ago, after one of our regular conversations, which was particularly refreshing and uplifting, I decided to write down some of the things I appreciate about my dad. (We writer types do those sorts of things every now and again.) As I wrote, I realized that, even though he and I have been through our rough patches, I have plenty of good things to say to him.

So, in the spirit of Father's Day, here's that "letter to my dad."

The Letter

Dear Dad,

The older I get the more I realize I'm a lot like you. And the more I realize that, the more I know it is, by and large, a good thing.

For instance: Just last night I was sweeping up after a barn dance with the Focus on the Family Institute students. At one point, I simply decided I would continue sweeping, without stopping, until the job was done. Right then I remembered the times you would come help me finish my mowing jobs. I recalled one specific time you pretty much chewed me out for not doing a satisfactory job on one elderly woman's lawn. I didn't really appreciate your tone back then. Because I was embarrassed, but also because I was, at heart, a little lazy. But I appreciate the wisdom you bestowed upon me that day, especially as it pertains to completing a job and doing it as best I'm able. I see so many people who haven't been taught the value in doing things right, in being committed through the long haul. Thank you for teaching me the value of finishing.

Today I was on the phone with you. You told me a story of one of your high school students who, while in Washington, D.C. this past May with you and some of his fellow students, really didn't want to go see the play you were scheduled to watch at some famous theater. But you made him go. You knew it would be good for him, this kid from Kansas, who would likely never see another play in his life. And much to his surprise — but not to yours, of course — he really liked it. He told you how people "where we come from" think they don't need artsy-fartsy stuff like musicals, but maybe exposing yourself to art is a good thing after all.

I just want to thank you, Dad, for instilling the same sort of value in me. Thanks for exposing me to different sorts of things — different ideas, different people, different landscapes. My favorite memories from childhood are the ones from the trips we took to all sorts of places around the country. You were showing my sisters and me a world outside our own. Whether or not you meant to, you inspired in me a love for things like art, geography, photography and music. You showed me that different isn't something we should be afraid of.

And here's something for which I'm eternally grateful: You taught me how to snow ski. You wanted me to enjoy something you loved. One year, early on, probably thinking you and I would each have a better time, you asked me if I wanted to take lessons. I gave you an unequivocal "no." I was so scared of people back then. And so you chose to be patient with me and continued teaching me yourself. As all your former students — 30-some years' worth — would attest, you’re a very good teacher.

Plain and simple, you taught me it's OK to cry. By your very own example you showed me it's actually a good thing for a man to express his emotions — not to wear them on his sleeve, of course, but never to repress them. You cried with us when we found out mom had cancer the second time; I remember being there with you. I remember watching you choke up when your church decided on a new pastor, after a fair amount of intramural squabbling. You were relieved, and you felt blessed, and you weren't afraid to show it. I think it's these no-excuses displays of emotion that taught me the importance of dealing with my own inner life — even when that turmoil I was experiencing involved you.

You introduced me to James Taylor. If it weren't for you, I'd never have danced to his song "Your Smiling Face" with my sisters at one of his concerts back when I was in college. Letting loose to James Taylor is so much fun. But you already know that.

You also taught me women love flowers. And by that I mean you taught me the value of commitment. One thing I've never had to worry about as your son is whether or not you would ever leave Mom. I was reminded of the fact every time you held her hand as you two walked through the mall. Or every time you and I would steal away from Mom and the girls while they shopped for groceries to buy them flowers. … OK, so I probably only picked out flowers for Jess and Jenni once or twice, but you did it a lot for Mom. I'm so blessed to have a Dad who is a shining example of husbandly commitment. For that I can't thank you enough.

You taught me the value of a dollar. You and Mom both did. I remember walking into Wal-Mart when I was a little kid, probably four or five years old, and I asked Mom, with the honest inquisitiveness only a pre-schooler can offer, if it was a sin to buy things that weren't on sale. I know that question was just the ridiculous ramblings of a child, but it illustrates the fact that I was learning an important lesson: Be wise with money. And it's an idea that's stuck with me. I live on a budget. I actually like my budget, because it gives me freedom. I write about money now and again, and I talk about living on a budget. My friends probably get annoyed with me, but I'm OK with that because you would be too.

If being wise with one's finances is one side of the proverbial "money" coin, the other is being generous, and you taught me that too. I have a very distinct memory from Thanksgiving time when I was in kindergarten. You and I had won a frozen turkey at some father-son freethrow shooting contest in another town. We picked up the turkey from the supermarket, but we already had one for ourselves. So we took it to a single mom in our church. She was poor and had at least two kids, probably three. Maybe she could have afforded a turkey of her own, I don't know. What I do know is I felt a very certain sense of having done the right thing when I walked up to the door with you and handed her our Thanksgiving prize. You taught me something of eternal value that cold November evening: to pass it on.

I'm thankful, Dad, for all you've taught me. But most of all, I'm thankful for you.

Love,

Matthew

Tell Him So

C O F F E E  S H O P

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What lessons did your father teach you?

Join the discussion!

As Father's Day approaches, I'd encourage you to consider the ways your dad has influenced your life. If he's had a primarily positive effect, then it would probably do you — and him — some good to tell him so.

But if things between you and your dad are less than stellar, well, perhaps this Father's Day could be the start of something new between you and him.

Even if it takes a collect call.