To Debbie from Dad

So many precious memories. These stand out:

It was Halloween. You were little, so excited to put on your costume and go trick or treating. It rained – hard. It was cold and so windy – low 40’s. Everything was soaking wet – impossible to navigate the streets and keep one’s feet dry. After a few houses, your costume was a wreck, your face and hands and feet must have felt like blocks of ice, and on this night that you had anticipated with so much joy, you burst into tears. ‘Bout broke my heart.

It was a rare autumn day that I was home. Your mom and I took you pre-schoolers somewhere fun – to a park? – then did some shopping. We got home after your nap time, but tried to feed you lunch, then put you down. We put you in your high chair and put a bowl of soup on your try. We got distracted, probably by one of your siblings, turned back to you, and there you were, sound asleep with your face squarely in your half-eaten bowl of soup.

You were 4. We had all gone to Missouri for Grandma Killingsworth’s funeral. I was carrying you. We saw Grandma and Grandpa Layer, then Uncle David and Aunt Bev. And look, here comes Grandpa Killingsworth! You were happy to see everyone. And then, when you and I were by ourselves for a moment, you quietly asked, “Where’s Grandma K?” It wasn’t until that moment that you knew what dying and funeral even meant. During the services themselves, it was so touching to see you and Susie sitting on either side of Grandpa K, an arm around each of you. The comfort you two gave him that day was precious to behold.

You were 6 or 7. I took you kids bowling. I instructed you all to find a ball, pointing out where the child’s sizes were. You selected a bright red one and came up to show it to me. In your excitement it slipped from your grip, and landed right on my foot. I was hopping around in quite a bit of pain. You were right on my tail, reassuring me over and over, “It’s all right, Dad! It’s all right!”

In Boston when you were in your early teens we stepped into a diner along the Freedom Trail for lunch, sitting on stools at the counter. I let each of you order what you wanted. The near-sighted short order cook kept turning to you as he took the other kids’ orders: “Is that ok, Mama, can your little one have that?”

Later in your teen-age years, you wanted to go to a concert with your friends: White Snake. I said no. Although I’m sure you felt it on other occasions, that is the only time I remember you showing any hostility toward your father: “Dad, I don’t think you’re being very fair!”

Your talk at a youth fireside after Dale’s accident, about a childhood Family Home Evening that you remembered when in crisis touched me deeply. Thank you for inviting us to the fireside in the first place, then letting us know that holding Family Home Evening regularly was worth it after all.

Happy Birthday, dear Debbie. I could go on, but I hope you sense that your dad loves you as deeply as you love your own children, and he always has.

Love, Dad