Happy Father's Day

Coming back from a jog around a field the other day, I sat down to remove the prickly stickers that inconspicuously found their way to my socks as I trecked through the weeds. As I carefully pulled the stickers off, I thought of how they seemed to hurt so much more as a child. I suddenly remembered my dad picking the same stickers from my socks for me when I was a little girl. It made me think of all those times I would venture into the fields with my dad to "help" him in his sampling process.

It was always an adventure. The trip would start out with a quick jaunt into the day old hostess store where my dad would let me pick out the Hostess treat of my choice to savor throughout the ride to the fields--a ho-ho, snowball, ding-dong, or cupcake, and sometimes I would even score a soda. Once we reached the designated field, and after much persuation that the crop circles were not going to jump to life and run me over, we trecked to a specific spot where my dad would let me do the "big kid's" job and hand me the trowel/stick thing to dig into the dirt to retrieve the needed soil for the sample. He patiently waited as my feeble attempts to dig as deep as needed slowed the process he could have done much quicker. When my little muscles and small body just couldn't quite manipulate the dirt digger (what is that tool called anyway?), he would lovingly put his hands over mine and help me shove it to the depths required.

After a while, my body would begin to tire and I would start to complain of the hot sun when my dad would caringly take the time to guide me to a spot of shade, or back to the pickup with the cool air conditioning. Once he finished the job I couldn't quite complete, he would come back to the pickup where he would find me whimpering over the uncomfotrable pokes in my shoes I couldn't get rid of. He would give me a sympathetic smile and gently remove them from my socks and clothing. He would give me a pat and ask if it felt better as we climbed back in the car for the drive home.

Throughout the whole process, my dad never got impatient with me even though I accomplished it at a painstakingly slow pace. He never got angry that I wasn't doing it right. He never got fed up that I was complaining too much. He always let me do as many samples as I wanted, and in so doing, created some of the best childhood memories I have with my dad. Although I no longer make the trips into the fields with my dad, to this day he still exercizes all of these qualities. He is gentle, kind, loving, charitable, patient, hard working, and if anything is hurting his family, he is going to take care of it. Thanks for all that you do Dad. I love you.