O Mein Papa

Growing up, I often felt closer to my mom than to Daddy. True, he was my father, the leader of my home, always demonstrating respect and love for my mom, and providing a “united front” with her against the wiles of their four daughters, when we wanted to weasel something out of them or disobey the rules. He was always a spiritual example to me, the more “pro-active” of my parents concerning volunteering in our church. Mom was always at his side, quietly serving or encouraging others, albeit very timidly in those early years. Daddy was never one to start ministries, but he was always the first to volunteer when a call would go out to serve.

Although I felt loved and accepted for the way I was, I think I stood in awe of Dad a little as a teen-ager and wished I could have had the “comradery” my tomboy sister shared with him. I wanted for him to sit and talk to me when I was upset or sad, like he did with her, but I didn’t know how to make it happen. It was years before I understood that Dad and I were very much alike in those days. Neither one of us was an initiator, but rather a responder; thus our conversations didn‘t seem to go anywhere.

It wasn’t until my sister left for college that I “came into my own” with my dad. We would drive to church together on church visitation night, just the two of us. It was kind of a first for me, since early childhood--getting to have dad’s undivided attention. It was great, but I still didn’t understand how special I really was to Dad until the day I left home at age nineteen.

He had driven me to church in the early hours of the morning, where I was to meet with another college-bound young person who would drive me to Missouri. It would be my first time away from home, but I was very excited. We arrived at the church parking lot, and the sun hadn’t come up yet. We sat listening to some hauntingly beautiful radio music as we waited for my ride. Dad got very quiet. Then he said softly, “I never could understood why Ma always cried so when one of us boys would leave the farm. I can still see her waving her handkerchief as we left home to go out on our own. Now I know how she felt.“ At that moment, I realized how special I was to my dad. The strains of the music got very tender at that point, and I asked my dad if he knew the name of the song. He replied, his voice choking with emotion, “It’s ‘O Mein Papa‘. It goes, ‘Oh, my papa, to me he is so wonderful…..’ “.

I’ve been thinking a lot about my dad this week-end, and I thank God for such a faithful, wonderful father. And he becomes more wonderful to me with each year that passes.