06/21/2026
Happy Father’s Day.
My father wasn’t what you would call an emotional father. He was mostly our disciplinarian. I don’t have many memories of us throwing a baseball in the yard. I only remember him coming to a couple of my games. I don’t remember him reading me books or having many deep conversations with me.
What I do remember is fishing.
Dad loved to fish. Everyone who knew him at the post office, and everyone in our family, knew that about him.
When I was around 11 years old, he and I were walking the banks of Flagon Creek, fishing along the edge of the water. We came across an abandoned campsite. There were beer cans scattered around, partially burned trash, and a campfire someone had left behind.
I remember the anger in my father’s voice.
He said, “These guys probably call themselves good ol’ country boys and rednecks, but they don’t care about the land. Look how they leave it. Look at this mess.”
The people he was upset with weren’t even there anymore, but his reaction left a mark on me that remains to this day:
I do not litter.
Matter of fact, seeing trash thrown on the ground still bothers me.
I can point to the exact moment in my life when that lesson was planted in my heart.
As I’ve thought about that memory over the years, especially today, I’ve wondered something. Was that genuine anger? Or was Dad intentionally making a point because he wanted to make sure his son never grew up treating the world that way?
I’ll never know.
My father passed away from cancer when he was only 47 years old and I was 24.
Now that I’m almost 52, with six children and five grandchildren, I’ve realized just how young 47 really is.
When he died, our relationship was still father and son. Parent and child. We never got the chance to have that man-to-man relationship that often comes later in life.
There are questions I’d love to ask him now. Things I’d love to understand about him. Mysteries that I’ll probably never get answers to.
But this morning during church, a verse came up that made me think about all of this.
Matthew 10:20 says,
“For it is not ye that speak, but the Spirit of your Father which speaketh in you.”
I know that all this is not the context of the passage, but it stirred something in me.
My father still speaks through me.
Not because I hear his voice, but because of what he put in my heart.
Just like I tried to put things into the hearts of my own children.
When my kids were learning to drive, every time I changed lanes, I would turn my head and say out loud, “I’m checking my blind spot.”
Over and over and over.
Years later, one of my children told me they can’t change lanes without turning their head because of what I drilled into them.
That made me smile.
Because maybe that’s part of being a father.
We leave pieces of ourselves behind.
Sometimes intentionally. Sometimes without even realizing it.
A value. A lesson. A habit. A belief. A way of treating people.
Maybe that’s one of the ways God works through fathers. He uses imperfect men to plant seeds that continue growing long after we’re gone.
I don’t know. It’s just something I’ve been pondering today.
I know many people reading this have lost their fathers. Others never had the relationship they wished they had. I understand that ache.
And for those of you who still have your father around, give him a call. Send him a text. Tell him you love him.
Father’s Day isn’t one of the biggest holidays of the year, but I think most dads would tell you that hearing “I love you” and “I appreciate you” means more than anything that can be wrapped in a box.
To all the dads carrying the weight of providing, protecting, leading, and trying to get it right…
To the dads wrestling with finances, relationships, guilt, regret, loneliness, and the feeling that maybe you should have done better…
I see you.
I know what runs through your mind when your head hits the pillow at night.
I know you’ve probably got a list of things you’d go back and change if you could.
So if nobody has told you today:
Happy Father’s Day.
And Dad … thank you for teaching me not to litter. 💕
