Remembering Dad

     So, it's crazy, this past month, the month Dad died, 8 years ago, was filled with random people telling me memories of Dad. All of these random encounters served to give me encouragement. There is just something remarkable about seeing your parents through the eyes of others. It makes me happy to hear other's memories. And the timing of when these memories were shared makes them even better. 

     Someone at church, who was good friends with dad, told me, this month, that he thinks of my dad often, when he is drinking coffee. He just remembers coming to visit and drinking coffee and talking. It was so sweet, just someone telling me that they miss him too, and that he is not forgotten. A simple memory of evenings spent talking over a cup of coffee. 

     Another lady at church gave me encouragement, by saying that I take after my father, and she knows he would be proud of me. 

     (This didn't happen this month, but sometime this year) I was at work, demonstrating Crazy Aaron's Thinking Putty to some customers, I knew them, they were a former teacher and her husband, who knew my dad long ago. Her husband told me that I just reminded him of Garnett; that the way I talked reminded him of my father. This is high praise for me!

     Just two days ago, I was driving to school, late as usual, and had to stop on our back road for some road work. The guy in the work van pulled up beside me to tell me that the back-hoe would be off the road in a bit. Then asked if I was Garnett's daughter. Since there aren't that many (ok, any) conservative Mennonites who live on that road, he obviously knew I was. I said yes, and he told me that he went to school with my dad. And that he never knew anyone finer, that "[my] father was number one." He went on to say that if he could be half as good as my father, then he would have turned out well. It was certainly a very fascinating encounter!

     These random encounters over the past month served to remind not to just forget about Dad, and I'll confess, the longer it goes, the more my memories fade. Time has a funny way of doing that to memory. But, these reminders, around the time of his death, meant a lot to me, and have made me reminisce about my childhood, and to ponder the gifts given to me from the short amount of time that I got to know my dad. I don't spend enough time being appreciative, but perhaps, this month, I honored my father with memories.