Today is the 15th, which means tomorrow will be the 16th. It is a number that holds so much meaning now…one I cannot disregard.
I drove home today thinking of so many moments with my father…wishing mostly that I could pick up the phone and talk to him. It’s such a simple request really. To speak with him, to gain bits of his wisdom, to give me advice and guidance of how I should proceed going forward in this life. Yet, it cannot be so.
I am constantly humbled by the character my father possessed. His patience. His inability to acknowledge anger. His extraordinary accomplishments in this life and his refusal to be recognized for them. I have talked many many times of how Good my father was and still, I feel my words can never fully do him justice.
Years ago, I came home from college to work at the golf course for the summer. I had never shown any interest in golf until I started working there. I couldn’t understand why my brother and father had shown such an obsession with the sport. Surely taking a piece of metal to an incredibly small, white object couldn’t be anything related to fun. And then one day I decided I would give it a go to see what all of the fuss was about. I was clubless and had not a clue as to what I was doing. I came home after my shift at the course and in between changing to leave again, I ran to the top of the stairs and said, “Dad, I want to learn to GOLF!” I came home that night to a new and polished set of golf clubs with pink tees to match. My father was so excited he had gone out shortly after I left and bought me a new set of clubs while I was gone. The next day he would risk his life teaching me to swing. He stayed with me for hours as I grew more and more impatient watching the ball go in every direction but straight ahead. Time and time again he would say, “You can do this. Just keep going!” Finally, I hit the ball so far I couldn’t see it land. “That’s the Krysta I know,” he exclaimed as we both jumped up and down.
Shortly after he asked me to be his partner in his company golf tournament. I politely declined telling him I wasn’t good enough to which he replied, “You’re good enough for me!” Colorful language in tow, I swung and missed many many times. I ruined any chance of him coming out with a good score. Coming up on the 18th hole, with arms folded and sulking I commented on how much the day sucked. I told him he would have been much better off asking Nathan to golf with him. On the car ride home later that day he responded to my rant by saying, “I just want you to know that my day didn’t suck at all. I got to spend it with you…” He wasn’t keeping score. He didn’t care. He was very much just enjoying the time that he and I got to share together…how I wish for those moments back.
And so on a day where the stress level is well past where it should be, body aching, and the world feeling as though it is a bit tipped off its axis, I am reminded that it was very much him who told me to “keep going.”
How I miss you today and every day Papa.
