dad
Its Current Value is Obvious
Traditions are highly over-rated!
That was my take. It had always been my take, and I thought it would always be my take on the subject. I have never been a blind keeper of traditions. It has never mattered what the traditions were, but rather their current value.
Growing up I kept my opinions to myself. I come from very outspoken and opinionated family stock. This included my entire extended family as well. I learned early on that discussing politics, religion, or sport teams was guaranteed a ringside seat for a heated discussion. However, as a child, who wanted to talk about that boring stuff anyway. I had much more relevant things to do.
What I did learn from all that “stuff” was the value of asking,”Why?” Why was this opinion, or that political position important to the person? Were the people holding on to them blindly for some unknown reason? What was actually behind what they stood for, or opined about so loudly to all within earshot? I was never going to ask those questions, but it was here that I began to form my position on tradition for tradition’s sake. Survey said…”No thank you!”
Enter the big blue tent.
My dad has a goodly amount of fine qualities. One of my favorites is his intense sense of being thorough about things. He never buys anything on impulse or a whim. He researches everything. He always takes his time, and will sleep at least one night on any purchase. It’s who he is as a person. It’s what he does, and I love him for it. I am sure the big blue tent was no exception.
This was a significant investment for a family in the 1960’s. It is 20 ft long and 9 ft wide. It can be divided into 3 separate rooms and is tall enough in the center for even the tallest of people to stand easily. Made of sturdy bright blue canvas this tent was made to last for a long time.
Allow me a moment to vent here, please. You see, when our family took its annual vacation it was for two full weeks of camping at a time. The six of us rolled out of the driveway hitting the road at 3:00 am and we drove straight to the campground some 4-8 hours away. The trip home was the exact reverse except we started for home later in the morning or afternoon.
Here is where the venting starts. Once we arrived at home we unpacked and pitched the tent on our front lawn. After two full weeks of exhausted fun we now had the privilege of pitching the tent, then sweeping the tent out, and finally vacuuming the floor, walls and ceiling inside and out. Are you kidding me! Who does that? This tradition will die with my father and will not be advanced in my generation. That was a solemn promise I made to myself.
As is normal with families, we all grew up and the folks gave us their camping gear. Marm and I inherited the big blue tent among other things. It was great to have the tent since our family was growing and wouldn’t stop until there were seven of us. This tent was awesome! I had to admit, as much as I hated to, Dad was right in how he had taken care of it. It was in immaculate condition.
True to form though, I never repeated his cleaning process once we were home. We swept it out as well as we could before we broke it down at the campsite. Once we arrived home it went straight on the shelf with the rest of the camping gear. It never saw the light of day until it was pitched at the next campsite on the next family adventure.
This was how it was the entire time our kids were growing up. We did treat the tent well, after all, it was getting up in years and was a great tent for our family. We couldn’t replace it with one of equal quality, and didn’t need to. It was a great heirloom. But, as is with all families, our kids grew up too, and we gave them most of our camping gear. Marm and I had, years before, discovered a thing called a yurt. Needless to say tents for us were now passe’. We are seasoned yurt people now, and love it.
Annie and Tristan now claim the rights of ownership in regard to the big blue tent. I don’t know if my parents ever in their wildest dreams imagined that this tent would be a binding factor over three generations of our family. None-the-less, it is just that.
The last time we and all of our kids and their families were camping together the big blue tent was there in all its un-camouflaged glory. Bright blue is bright blue. Its presence is strikingly obvious no matter where it’s pitched. While we were camping we were discussing what we could get my dad for his birthday. Someone came up with the idea to have a picture taken with all of us standing in front of the big blue tent. We all thought it was a great idea and did so.
At his birthday party we presented the picture to my dad as I told the story about traditions and their value. We wanted him to know that despite my intense dislike at his thorough care of the tent in the early years, this Big Blue Tent was now a treasured possession of our entire family. Every time we see it pitched we are reminded of the man we all love. We are reminded of his quality of care and his thoroughness. We are reminded of him, and that’s a really good thing.
This is not a tradition for tradition’s sake. Nope. This is a tradition worth keeping since its current value is obvious.
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The Day I Was Done and Gave My Daughters Away.
I remember all the feelings I had as we stood at the back of the runner. Breathe I told myself. Soak in every moment, every step. Don’t be in a hurry. It will go so fast and you won’t have another chance like this with her. It was hard to believe it had already come to this.
Several months later as we stood atop the flight of outdoor stairs I had the same rush of feelings tearing at me as before. Breathe I ordered myself again. Soak in every moment, every step. Don’t trip and don’t miss the smallest detail of this walk. I knew it was going to pass by so quickly and I felt like I had no time to get my feet under me.
I was ready for this and yet, completely unprepared for this, all at the same time. So many memories and thoughts running through my head as I walked down that aisle and stairway. So many things I wanted to say. So many things there was no time to say. In the blink of an eye it would be over and everything will have changed forever. Nothing would ever be like it was before.
As a new father I had no idea what to expect. I really had no clue. I had no idea that the long nights would really be LONG. I knew nothing of being mature and consistent as the dad. I had no idea how much fun my kids could be, and what memories we would make together throughout all their childhood years. I didn’t have much confidence in myself about being a good dad at all. I was scared at times. Not scared of the unknown, but scared about myself and what I was capable of as their father.
I didn’t know how deeply I would love my children. How could I until the little buggers were filling up the house? I was in way over my head, but was loving being their dad. No other man had the inside track that I had to these wonderful people. No other man would have them calling for him to come and tuck them into bed at night. No other man would hug them as dad, or kiss them as dad, or whatever them as dad. I got all of that. It was mine. I was Daddy.
I watched them grow, and mature. I watched them stumble, fall, skin their knees both literally and figuratively. I watched them grow in their faith and commitment. I watched them struggle as they wrestled with who they are as people. I watched, and watched, and watched.
Marm and I were so vigilant about being present with the kids. “Don’t miss the time as it passes”, was our mantra. We took to heart the sage old advice of those who had gone before us.
“Pay attention! The time passes so quickly.”
We worked hard at being there for the kids. They were an inseparable part of our family fabric and were woven deeply into its tapestry.
So how did it come to this already? How in the world did I get here? I paid attention. I was involved. I was there. I watched and participated. How did it come to this so soon?
In a mere few minutes my daughters would no longer be just mine. Their hearts had been given to other men. They were pledging their entire lives to these men, and I watched it happen, or in my case, helped in the process.
I was being asked, “Who gives this woman…?” and I was simply to say, “Her Mother and I.” That’s it? A whole life time together and in one simple statement of release she is gone from me forever.
I know it was what we wanted for them. What we prayed about and prepared for, for them. It was the right thing for them. The best thing for them. The blessed thing for them. There was no denying it, nor would I try. I wanted this for them all along. It was just…just… just that it happened right under my nose when I wasn’t looking. Well, maybe I was looking, but just wasn’t prepared for how I would feel on those two days when I was done and gave my daughters away.
Curls & Capes 