Remembering Howard Danner, Remembering Dad

I grew up in northern New England.  We lived about a mile away from school. Too close to take the bus--so we walked  On nice days, on rainy days, on snowy days, we walked.  Sometimes we'd complain about it.  And inevitably my father would shake his head, and tell us how he used to walk five miles each way, even in the snow!  It wasn't until I was twelve or so that I put it all together:  my dad grew up in West Palm Beach.  Florida! 

It's funny how often I think of that story.

It's funny how often I think of my dad.  We were often at odds over the years.  He tended to be much more traditional in many of his understandings of the faith.  I can remember more than one heated discussion about the use of inclusive language and the respective roles of men and women in life.  In earlier days we'd argued about little things, like the length of my hair (yes, Virginia, I had hair!) or the timing of my curfew. 

Still, for all our disagreements, we also had a real respect for one another.  And a deep, deep love.  I remember when I went away to college waking up one night in October realizing I really missed him!  These days that happens every time I see his picture or someone mentions him in conversation.  Because for all our differences one of the things I could always count on was the fact that no matter what I had to say, no matter how long it took me to explain it, Dad would listen.  Really listen.  And he'd be genuinely interested.  And then, if I asked, he'd offer me sound advice.

He loved me.  He was willing to listen.  And he was interested in what I had to say, in who I was and what I did.  As we approach Father's Day I realize yet again how really fortunate I was to have him.  I only pray that my children will be able to say the same.