Shake. Shake. Lick. Every night after supper, my dad used to shake the salt two times in his hand and lick it. I’m not sure if he was clearing his palette or what, but the memory is forever engrained in my head. After licking his hand and carrying his plate to the sink, Dad would lie on the floor in front of the fridge. And of course, my brother and I would come sit on top of him and play.
Not long after, my dad would disappear only to return after having his shower. I loved the way my dad smelled after his shower. In his white undershirt and his wet combed hair, he would sit in his chair and watch TV until bedtime. Sometimes I would sit with him. When I was a bitty girl, he carried me to bed every night. As he carried me through the living room by the front door, I hid my face on his shoulder. I didn’t want to see the blackness beyond the little window in the front door. I was sure “George Washingty” would peek in at me. (Don’t ask. I guess his picture on the dollar bill scared me.)
Sunday morning, my dad would turn on Peach fm after breakfast and the sounds of faith would dance through the house as we readied for church. It was my dad who brushed my hair every Sunday morning. I would run to his bathroom and stand on the toilet lid, and with his big brown square brush he would smooth down the unruly rat’s nest on my head.
It was also my dad who led me through the plan of salvation early one morning after breakfast. I came to my parents with questions, and he had answers. If I could describe my father with one word, it would be humble. My dad is one of the wisest and most intelligent people I have ever met. Even still, he is the most humble. He is a pillar. His faith is strong, taught to him by his own father who spent his life preaching God’s word.
He decreed statutes for Jacob and established the law in Israel, which he commanded our forefathers to teach their children, so the next generation would know them, even the children yet to be born, and they in turn would tell their children. Then they would put their trust in God and would not forget his deeds but would keep his commands. Psalm 78:5-7 NIV
This verse talks about how one generation can affect the next. My grandfather taught my father who taught me. Y’all have heard me say how I got my personality from my mother. But friends, my solid rock foundation in Christ can be attributed to my father. I have never seen his faith in God waver. Not one little tiny bit. Now that is a pillar, friends. That is my dear old dad.
Happy Father’s Day, Dad! I love you!