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BUT YOU DIDN'T
. Almost forty years ago my father gave me a wonderful little
plaque that said simply: "Never give up." The Never Give Up plaque
still hangs above my desk and contains three of the most powerful and
important words I've ever heard or read.
. I wrote the following poem just after learning that my dad, now
seventy-six, has cancer. I wrote it to honor this very special man
whom I have the privilege of calling my father.
Dad,
. Remember when I broke the window at the neighbor's house? You
know, the great big one? I tried to get you excited about the fact
that I'd hit a home run in the process; But by the look on your face
when you found out how much it was going to cost, I thought you were
going to strangle me,
BUT YOU DIDN'T
. And remember when you found out that I had sold the Minister some
books on how to mix drinks (that I'd found in the alley) just to make
some extra money for Christmas presents? I thought for sure that you
were going to tell me that there was going to be no more Christmas for
me,
BUT YOU DIDN'T
. Do you remember, Dad, when I borrowed your best knife, kinda
without your knowing it, and kinda lost it? Oh I felt awful. I knew
that you were going to tell me that I was a screwed-up, irresponsible
kid,
BUT YOU DIDN'T
. Remember, Dad, when I split my head open for the fourth time in
only three years? For sure, I expected you to tell me that it was a
really dumb thing to do,
BUT YOU DIDN'T
. O Dad, can you remember when you tried to teach me how to drive?
And I became an instant imbecile, unable to remember which pedal did
what, making the car jump up and down all over the road? I felt
certain that you'd adopt me out to another family until I finally
learned how to drive,
BUT YOU DIDN'T
. And, can you remember, Dad, when you let me use your car, for
that "extra special" date and I got into an accident because I was
trying to show off? I was afraid to come home because I told her you
were going to ground me ... for at lease a year,
BUT YOU DIDN'T
. O Dad, you were always surprising me, always loving me more than
I ever deserved. Somehow you always knew just what I needed. Like,
remember when I didn't make the team that year and I came home in
tears, feeling pretty sorry for myself? I was confident that you'd
join me in my self-pity party.
BUT YOU DIDN'T
. Or, years later, when I finally made the All City and All State
teams and even got a scholarship to go to Stanford? I thought you'd
be so impressed and tell me that now I "really had life made,"
BUT YOU DIDN'T
. I guess that's why you didn't seem so surprised when I got thrown
in jail for "celebrating a little bit too hard" after a State
Championship game. Remember, Dad, (how could you ever forget) when
you and Mom got a phone call at 4:30 in the morning from the chief of
police asking you to come down to the jail and get your son? All the
way home I waited and waited for you to blast me.
BUT YOU DIDN'T
. The first words, in fact the only words, you said to me were:
"Come on, son, let's go have some breakfast." How did you know, Dad?
How did you know? At the time of most critical failure; at the very
time when I knew that I had let you down the most, you knew, you
remembered to remind me that I was your son - period ... in spite of
it all.
. How did you know? For a man with only an eighth - grade
education and no time to read, because you were always working more
than one job just to keep your family going, you were sure smart. No,
more that that, Dad, you had some of that "wisdom" that must have come
from the Other Father. You always told me that you and "The Man
Upstairs" (as you were fond of calling Him) were pretty close friends.
. The years passed, and our friendship grew even closer. I can
remember, Dad, the first time we had lunch together - just you and me,
alone. I was in my late twenties - almost a grown man. We laughed
and you told me stories about your youth that I never knew before.
That lunch seemed to go on forever. After that, you seemed even
closer and I began to realize who you really were ... and how much I
really loved you. Memories ... Special ones ... Aren't we fortunate,
Dad, to have so many? Steve and I have a lot of rich memories,
because you made sure that we experienced a lot of life ... together.
REMEMBER, DAD,
. When we used to go duck hunting at Midnight, our little dog, was
so small that she couldn't drag the ducks back?
. When I brought forty-three kids home from a Young Life camp at
three in the morning, to sleep on the floor?
. When you and Mom could dance all night and still knock the socks
off everybody at work the next day?
. When your sons finally graduated from college (it was something
you always wanted for us)?
REMEMBER, DAD,
. When Steve, your number - one son and my number - one friend, got
married in Boston? What a grand celebration. You were so proud,
. When we couldn't wrestle anymore?
. When you got honored for being the top man in your region - an
honor few men get (still working) at the age of seventy-four?
. When you first had to tell me that "California was a long ways
away" and that you would like to come down, but maybe later...?
O Dad,
. I've never quite had enough words to be able to tell you and Mom
just how much I love you.
. Remember when Pam and I finally got our first house and the
children came? We wanted so much for you to be able to come visit,
BUT YOU DIDN'T
. You couldn't anymore. For a growing number of reasons. You
wanted to so much, but California was "such a long way."
. Remember, Dad, the day they broke the news to you that you had
cancer? Everyone else seemed to fall to pieces,
BUT YOU DIDN'T
. Never have I been more proud of you, Pop. The quiet courage that
you showed us all those years, sometimes when we weren't even aware of
it, has shown all the more brightly these past months.
. I never heard you complain. In fact, I've never seen you laugh
more richly, Pop, and never seen you so much at peace.
. I'm understanding, at even deeper levels, those three precious
words you gave me four decades ago.
"Never Give Up",
because,
YOU DIDN'T
From .. "What kids need most in a Dad." By Tim Hansel
Computers for Christ - Chicago