The Good, The Bad, and The Dad
My dad and I were a lot alike, which is probably why we spent so much of my childhood butting heads.
He was brilliant. A Chemical Engineer from Vanderbilt with an MBA from the University of Tennessee, he developed manufacturing processes that earned patents and solved problems most people couldn’t even understand. He had one of those minds that never stopped working.
Then he’d sit down to help me with my math homework…
Suddenly neither of us looked very smart.
I didn’t want to hear his “suggestions,” and I’m quite certain he didn’t enjoy my stubbornness any more than I enjoyed his persistence. Looking back, I realize we were simply too much alike. I spent years determined not to become like my father, only to discover that God had quietly woven many of his traits into me anyway. Funny how genetics—and maybe a little osmosis—have a way of doing that.
Dad also had a mischievous streak.
He invented something my sister and I still jokingly refer to as The Friendly Claw.
There was nothing particularly friendly about it.
Picture an unsuspecting child, a hand shaped like a claw, and an aggressive tummy tickle. My sister and I still laugh about it today, though I distinctly remember believing my life might actually end every time he came after us.
Then there was Christmas when I was eighteen.
After we’d finished opening presents, Dad casually announced, “There’s one more gift in the garage.”
My heart nearly stopped.
I threw open the garage door expecting to see a car.
Instead…
There sat a dune buggy.
Now, had I been ten years old, I would have thought it was the greatest gift ever given to mankind.
But I was a sophomore in college.
I just stood there staring.
“Dad…what exactly am I supposed to do with a dune buggy?”
Looking back, I’m fairly certain that present had Dad’s name written all over it. At that point, he was making one of his childhood dreams come true, and trying to complete one of mine. I guess better late than never, ha! But we did actually share some fun times on that dune buggy as adults!
As I grew older, though, I began seeing my parents differently.
When we’re children, our parents seem larger than life. They have all the answers. They know what they’re doing. We model most things we do after them.
Then one day you realize…
They’re just people. And by all means, they are not perfect.
People carrying burdens you never knew existed.
People making decisions with the knowledge they had at the time.
People trying—and sometimes failing—just like the rest of us.
Dad worked hard every day to provide for our family. We never wondered where our next meal would come from or whether we’d have a roof over our heads. Of course, Mom had a lot to do with that!! I will always be grateful to them.
But I also watched things that shaped me in different ways.
My mom always seemed willing to do whatever needed to be done, whether it was difficult, grueling, or seemed near impossible. Dad saw providing financially as the primary way he loved his family. They both loved us deeply, but they carried marriage differently.
As a teenager, I began quietly making mental notes.
Some things I wanted to repeat.
Some things I hoped to do differently.
Oddly enough, some of Dad’s greatest lessons came during his hardest seasons.
I remember when he tried to leave the company where he’d spent years building his career. Another opportunity came along, but his employer threatened legal action and essentially warned him that leaving could end his future in that industry.
I remember watching the sheer devastation.
The frustration.
The feeling of being trapped.
At the time, I didn’t realize I was learning one of the most valuable lessons of MY life.
Years later, after graduating from Auburn with my degree in Chemical Engineering, I found myself working for an industrial company in Illinois.
At first, everything seemed promising.
Then the company hired consultants to “restructure.”
Employees who had faithfully given twenty and thirty years of their lives were escorted out the door with little more than a handshake.
Watching that happen brought my dad’s experience rushing back.
And that day, I made myself a promise.
No one would ever decide my future for me again.
Not if I had a choice.
Almost immediately, I enrolled in Real Estate school.
It wasn’t because I thought real estate would be easier.
It was because I wanted the freedom to build something no one else could simply take away.
Looking back now, I realize Dad never sat me down and intentionally taught me that lesson.
Life did.
His experiences did.
God did.
Some of the greatest lessons our parents teach us are never spoken out loud.
They come through their victories.
Their failures.
Their strengths.
Their weaknesses.
Their choices.
Their regrets.
I spent much of my younger years trying not to become my father.
Today, I find myself incredibly thankful for him.
Not because he was perfect.
He wasn’t.
Neither am I.
I’m thankful because God used an imperfect father to shape the woman I would become.
Some lessons came from what Dad did.
Others came from what he didn’t do.
Both became gifts.
As I look back over the breadcrumbs God scattered throughout my life, I can now see He was directing my path long before I recognized where it was leading.
We don’t get to choose our parents.
But God does.
In His wisdom, He uses imperfect people to prepare us for the purpose He has planned all along.
Looking back, I wouldn’t trade those lessons for anything.
Because sometimes the greatest teachers never realize they’re teaching us.