Fathers of yesteryear and today

Father’s Day remains bittersweet to me. I reflect with fondness, love and adoration for the father I lost long ago. He had a handsome face, tattooed with a perfect dimpled chin, eyes bluer than the sea, and a mane of thick blond hair atop his six-foot-five inch statuesque frame. He really was movie-star charming. Ask any nurse who worked beside him.

My memories of Lou Landrum, M.D are nested in my heart and soul forever. Missing him is as much a part of life as breathing. He was such a kind, generous and humble man and cared for thousands of patients in Lake City, Florida. Payment mattered little to Lou. Should one of his patients be unable to pay in dollars and cents, he would gratefully accept their tomatoes, okra, peas and corn. Or nothing at all. I think there were more ‘couldn’t pay’ than ‘could’. I base this assumption on all the vegetables dropped on our doorsteps through the years.

He wasn’t a perfect father, though death usually promotes, titles, and then crowns you as such. I have come to realize this ‘perfect title’ is given only when one dies. Those departed are remembered as being absolutely perfect in every way, having done nothing wrong during their entire remembered life. I believe the departed should be granted something. Perfection seems reasonable enough to me. By golly, give it to them!!

I watched this title crowned atop my grandfather soon after his death. And then my own father. It’s a remarkable thing, really! Heck, it gives one something to look forward to when their end fnally does come. Everyone will look back at, well, our absolute perfection! Awesome:-)

In Far Outside the Ordinary, I wrote about Boone and his strife for perfection all of his life. Luckily — and immediately after his death — my girls promoted him to perfect in record time.  This promotion and newly crowned title would make him beyond happy. We have reached the half-way mark for Sara Britton, my youngest daughter.  Boone has been gone from her life for half of her life. Actually, that is really hard to believe.

And Dale, the father who never planned to be. I would call him perfect but he is still living so that won’t work. But I will hint ….he is awfully close! This quiet man has opened his heart and shared his love with me and with my girls– Sara Britton and Garrett — in every way, and with such unabashed devotion. I thank God for this man every day of my life.

So to all the wonderful men — living and gone; perfect and imperfect — Happy Father’s Day! You are remembered and loved as you were, and as you are.