04 AugThey Call Me Dad

When I am at work the phone will ring. Sometimes it is a customer needing computer help. Often it is one of my children. “Dad?” they will say. When I come home from work it won’t be too long after I have entered the house when I hear “Dad?” I will be out in my home office taking opportunity of a precious hour or two to write on my book when the phone intercom will ring. “Dad?” I will be getting ready for bed when one of my eight stands in the doorway. “Dad?” I hear the word so much that that I recognize it only as a sound my kids make when they want something of me.

The other day something happened. I heard “Dad?” and it sounded different. I wish the setting or situation was dramatic. It would make a more captivating story. It was a very ordinary moment in an ordinary day. I was in my bedroom changing into my tennis shoes before going out to work in the garden. Glory, my ten-year-old, walked in. “Dad?” she said. I was momentarily annoyed. She probably wanted me to do something other than what I planned on doing.

When I turned to see what she wanted I was struck. Struck by what? I’m not sure. All I know is this young girl called me “Dad.” Me! Of all the men in the world she called me “Dad.” So what is the big deal? Men are called “dad” millions of times every day, right? That doesn’t matter. This little girl only calls one man “dad.” Me! I am her “Dad.”

I looked at Glory like I had never seen her before–long, sandy brown hair; big brown eyes; skinny as a rail. I saw her in the future as a full-grown woman—educated, wife, mother. I saw her even farther in the future as a goddess sweeping through the universe in a flowing white dress, master of all love and knowledge. This future Goddess calls ME “dad.” This blows me away. I was so overcome that I would have sat down on the bed to recover from the vision except that Glory took me by the hand to show me how she rearranged her room.

I have eight who call me “Dad.” Wow.