On Father's Day: Choosing to Love

Father's Day becomes something different when you're not sure how you feel about your father.

For the last 25 years, I have remembered sweet, old memories with my dad and probably created some new ones. When I was young, he always went to work early in the morning before any of us were awake; so he would call later before we went to school to say hello. The most common exchange I remember from these phone calls went something like this:

"Good morning, Leslie!"
"Good morning, Daddy."
"You look beautiful today."
"How do you know I look beautiful? You haven't even seen me!"
"Because you look beautiful every day."

I also used to always tell him happy birthday/happy father's day/happy whatever "to the best dad I've ever had." My older brother would quickly inform me that "he's the only dad" I'd ever had--but after a while I just said it because it was cute.

I remember dancing to Bob Marley in our living room when I was just a tiny little girl, Dad just holding me and twirling me around. I remember many boat rides and thinking that I had the coolest Dad because he knew how to drive a boat. I remember him coming home with the latest victim of his hunting skills--and finding a deer skull in the freezer later. I remember running to get him (or one of my brothers) whenever there was a cockroach in my bedroom. I remember lots of family vacations, road trips, and holidays with mostly fondness and laughter. I remember unwavering support from dance recitals to art projects to moving every summer during college to graduations in different states. I remember tough love and discipline. I remember family Bible time and church days. I remember discovering our love for photography together--me stealing his camera until he bought me my own.

I've always loved my dad, because that's what you do. You love your parents. You love your siblings. You love your family. There's no one that has to tell you to do it--you just do it.

But at some point, as you get older, that rote, obligatory love turns into something you choose to do. It becomes something you have to actively work at, fine tune, develop. Both parties, parent and child, have to commit to loving each other beyond just what blood (or habit) demands. This transition is not always easy, and does not always end in a positive parent-child relationship.

Over the last few weeks, I have realized that I have never really gotten to this place with my father--the place where I started choosing to love him. I almost feel as though I'm still stuck in the same relationship with my dad that we've had since I was 4 years old. "You're beautiful, honey." "Thanks, Dad. I love you." But, what does my dad actually know about me? About my life? Sure, he asks me about my job, about my boyfriend...but there's not a lot of depth. One day, not long ago, he said to me, "Leslie, do you love Tim?" And I was completely taken aback because it felt like far too intimate of a question for my father to be asking me.

Although, it shouldn't have been.

I've learned some things about my dad recently that have forced me to come face-to-face with our relationship. I've discovered that I've never had any strong emotional feeling toward him, not really negative or positive--I've always just loved him because that's what daughters do.

But now, at the age of 25, I'm being pushed to reconsider everything that I've ever known about my dad. I can no longer accept him just as a father, the same way I did when I was a tiny little girl spinning around in his arms in the living room. I'm an adult, with adult feelings and adult emotions and adult memories and adult relationships. My relationship with my father should be one that exists between two...adults. Man, is that harder than I thought it would be.

To suddenly look at your dad and see him as human--not as the Superman who carried you on Halloween night because your plastic princess shoes were giving you blisters--can be quite jarring. To suddenly see him as someone who makes mistakes, sometimes big ones, and someone that you have to forgive. To suddenly see him as a man who heavily shaped and influenced the way you understand men, seek the Lord, and respect yourself as a woman. To suddenly, and maybe for the first time, feel a strong emotion toward your father and have that emotion be anger...well, that kind of complicates the "choosing to love" stage of adulthood.

My dad will always be my dad. Those memories I have will always be cherished and special. And I wasn't lying when I said "I forgive you."

But I still need some time to process this adult relationship with my dad--one that should have become "adult" many years ago. I am hopeful for the possibility of having a deep, strong, and meaningful relationship with my father eventually. And on Father's Day, I am especially reminded of the incredible importance of these father/daughter relationships. My heart craves a genuine one with my precious dad, who has called me beautiful my entire life and who has always been my biggest cheerleader.

But now it's time for me to discover my dad as more than just a cheerleader. To get to know him in a real way, in an honest way. To choose to love him, choose to trust him, choose to forgive him.

How incredible that we have a heavenly Father who has already given us a picture of what this relationship can look like. As I move slowly through the thick, muddy water of hurt, confusion, anger and memory, I'm eternally grateful that there is hope on the other side. My dad and I can discover a real, deep, meaningful, adult father-daughter relationship because Jesus already came to restore us.

From my four-year-old self, I say: I love you, Dad.
From my 25-year-old self, I say: I am learning to love you, Dad.

Happy Father's Day. You're still the best dad I've ever had.

Thanks for reading,
Leslie