Every time I find new books to read, take a hike, fix banana pudding, or grill on a summer Saturday night; I think of my dad. His early life was a tangle of family pain and displacement. He proved the difference a few mentors make and rose above his dysfunctional beginnings. He died in June of 1994. Flying to Kansas City for his service, I tried to put into words who my dad was to me. I share my tribute here to celebrate the man who gave me more than life, he showed me a good way to live.
Thanks, Dad!
A Man of Texture, He
by Debbie Goodwin
A man of texture he, my father was:
Of unsanded edges and hand-carved humor.
With corrugated stubbornness and generosity, soft-piled,
He pieced his life like a rag rug where variety and contrast
Produced its own continuity.
A man of nature he, my father was.
Of redwood endurance and ocean rhythms,
A star-gazer, dawn-treader;
He wandered cave and forest,
Hiked canyon and rock edge,
Would rather tent than motel.
He sailed and fished
And telescoped God’s world
And always found it good!
A man of books he, my father was:
From Reader’s Digest Condensed
To Michener, unabridged;
He bought them,
Read them,
Stacked them,
Sold them,
Started them,
Piled them,
Finished them,
Lost them!
A man of hobbies he, my father was.
Leather-crafting,
Type-set printing,
Hook rugging,
Oil painting,
Wood working,
Star finding,
Wood carving,
Outdoor grilling.
If it came in a kit or suggested in a book,
He wanted to try it
A man of God he, my father was:
Of uncomplicated theology
And simple trust,
He preached God’s Word.
He lived God’s Word.
He shared God’s Word with me.
A man of miles he, my father was.
Mountain miles.
Desert miles.
Airport miles.
Assembly miles.
Vacation miles.
Friendship miles.
Two million miles and more
He traveled
Without isolation
Or accident
Or complaint.
But now he rests
With miles no more to go.
He is home
To stay.