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Father's Day Miscue
(by Gary Godfrey - June 23, 2009)
Father’s Day has always made me a little melancholy. I never knew my biological father, and still try to fill the void of that last link, still unknown. I do know that he was a Mexican worker on the railroad. My mother's loneliness, with her husband off to war -- was just too much to deal with. Alas! An olive skin baby boy, awaiting for his return.
It’s a sad story, but true. It’s taken me many years to come with grips of this unknown . . .
I now have my heavenly Father to fill my holes of despair.
I’ve tried to be a special father to my children, grand children, and great grand child. But, once again, have fallen short.
Their love is not hidden, and those special moments when you see that special smile -- makes it all worthwhile.
Ginger and I enjoyed Father’s Day with daughter number one (Kelly and family) with a picnic lunch, great dessert, good conversation -- and one quick game of kick-ball with grandson number four (Austin).
Austin had asked me several times to play a game of kick-ball with him. “I promise, we’ll do it before you leave,” I interjected each time.
Son-in-law (David) made it known, that it was time to go home. Austin came running with ball in hand.
“We’ve only got enough time to play one inning,” I announced truthfully. “You kick first.”
The inning ended with Austin scoring two runs, with two imaginary runners left on base.
Now it was Grampie's turn.
With my crocks strapped down, I tried to kick the ball sideways. My first attempt popped up, with an easy catch for Austin. On my second attempt, I decided to go for the fence and to use the front of my toes. The underhand pitch was a slow roller that anyone could have creamed! When I looked up the ball drilled Austin in the left elbow.
Immediately, I knew he was stunned or hurt. He walked with his head down quickly out of sight.
“Are you OK?” I shouted from a distance.
No reply. He must be crying, I thought to myself.
When you’re 11 years old, you don’t want your Grandfather seeing you in tears.
I then darted into the house, to look for father David.
“I just drilled Austin with a line drive. You better go see if he’s OK,” I suggested.
“He’s fine. If he walked away, that means he doesn’t want you to see him with tears,” he elaborated.
This week’s bottom line: I’ve been hearing this all my life. “Big boys don’t cry!” That’s nonsense. When you’re hurt, feeling sad, lonely, or emotionally stressed -- some times that the only comfort you can muster. If God didn’t want big boys to cry -- He wouldn’t have created tears. I’m sorry Austin -- for kicking your butt! (Oh, I mean elbow)
The sorrow which has no vent in tears may make other organs weep. ~Henry Maudsley
Let your tears come. Let them water your soul. ~Eileen Mayhew
The soul would have no rainbow had the eyes no tears. ~John Vance Cheney
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