In My Father's Hands
Written in Love by Gail A. Ward
The sun was streaming through the windows of the van and the lines on the road began running together forming one continuous line leaving a trail from Atlanta to Savannah. It was a very exciting day. Early morning in Georgia. Dew still on the blades of grass, shimmering as Mother Sun forced her way into the bright smile of daylight.
As I sat in the back seat behind my Father, I started to ponder all of the things that had happened to me that year…there were many…a strange thing happened. A warm ray of sunlight stretched across the steering wheel illuminating my father’s hands. Fingers, gnarled and twisted. Skin discolored and peeling from hard work and harsh days of chemicals and sun. They were beautiful. They weren’t at first glance what a layperson would call beautiful. But at that moment my whole life was outlined in the beauty of those incredible hands. They became a work of art as I continued to stare at them and suddenly they became the catalyst for fond memories long faded with time.
MY FATHER’S HANDS BECAME MY MECCA.
Daddy as I call him has been working since he was fourteen. He is now a little older and wiser and still as wonderful to me as ever. He has a warm smile and infectious laugh. A strong disposition and kind heart. A distinguished gait and open spirit. Everyone who meets my father loves him…it is inevitable! My Father is not rich or famous. He is, however, powerful, resilient, dedicated and extremely loving. My Father is a man that anyone would be well blessed to know and call a friend. He never has a bad word to say about or to anyone unless they have absolutely earned it. A complicated and difficult man at times, my dad like everyone can be full of contradictions. But when I think of my dad the words that come to mind are love, joy, laughter, passion, safety, and hard work. One of the philosophies that he taught me is the value of perseverance. He always says when things go wrong and life slaps him or any of the people that are important to him “OK, that was bad but let’s keep going…let’s take a lesson from the ducks and let the water of that roll off” Life will go on”!
On that wonderful warm summer day, all those moments when life slapped us…backhanded us and bewildered us and daddy smiled, kept going and so did we… life continued with joy, passion, love and hard work flooded back. The strength it takes to have that smile showed up in the bruises, calluses, power and gentleness in his hands. Hands that dried my tears when I didn’t fit anywhere. Hands that saved me from drowning in a five-foot pool of water. Hands that guided me in dance lessons. Fingers that pointed at me in times when this curious and precocious young person needed pulling up. Hands that showed me how to choose my first car and then fix it when I broke it by doing something stupid. Hands that moved me into my first apartment. Hands that no matter what happens fix things and make everything feel better. From the small things to the large things, those hands and a heart that is ever widening have always been extended, open and make it all feel better.
My father is my hero and at a time when women spend so much well-deserved time bashing men who don’t show up. I can smile and say that I know that they are not all the same. I hope that there are many other children who are blessed as my sister, brother and I are to glance at their fathers with awe and gratitude and feel so fortunate to have them in their lives.
I want to pay tribute to the men who stayed. The good guys. The fathers who extend the hands, spirits, lives, love and support to their children.
In a world where it’s so easy to see the darkness I want to take a moment to salute the light. The light that lives in the men. The men like my father, without whom the world would be lost.
I feel completely qualified to write this. Why? Because I am my Father’s child.
My Father made his transition on September 20th, 2014; smiling, active, positive, encouraging and courageous as always. But my heart shattered on that day. There is now a hole in my heart that will never heal. But I am working very hard to grow something beautiful in the space, just as my Father taught me to and he would accept nothing less. His hands will always guide me and I have no doubt he will be waiting with them outstretched to catch and hold me when it’s my turn to return home.
~Gi
Comments