Today is my father’s birthday. He turns 88 years old. As a child, the idea that someone could be 88 years old was something I simply could not fathom. But as an adult in my 60s, years take on a different perspective.
Like me, Dad tends to be a worrier. We worry about things we have absolutely no control over. But unlike me he is calm. That is an enviable quality I wish I could possess. He has the ability to live in the moment – where as I am always looking ahead, planning for every impending disaster that I am sure will come. My brain is always creating contingency plans for every possible scenario. In doing so, the joy of the present passes me by. But his calmness helps me weather the storms.
Last August, with the scorching Texas heat, the promise of a coming winter seemed so inviting. In Texas we don’t hold out much hope for the changing colors of fall or new beginnings of spring to segue into the harsher seasons. Any inkling of fall or spring disappears in the blink of an eye.
The weather here can change quickly. It’s not surprising to see 80-degrees drop to 50 or lower in a matter of hours. Winter can last for a few days or go on for months on end. Warm spring-like days punctuate the weeks. Like bookends, they frame episodes of snow flurries and ice storms - teasing glimpses of hope that spring has arrived only to be cut short when the frigid north wind pushes south, blowing the warmth away.
For a couple of months it looked like we would have a mild winter escaping the characteristic “blue northers” or ice storms that are commonplace between November and April. But alas, it was not to be, as Mother Nature blessed our parched prairie with some ice and snow just last week.
I admit to enjoying a few “snow days” away from work. If the power stays on, there’s no reason not to just relax and enjoy it. Just don’t get out on the roads. People here don’t get the concept of slowing down when driving on ice. Every red neck in an oversized pickup truck or yuppie in a Hummer presents a “real and present” danger to everyone else on the road.
Weather and its complete unpredictability make me crazy – OK crazier. Things that I can’t control or at least spend weeks preparing for – well, you see where I’m going here. It’s possible that I’m a little bit OCD. I am most comfortable when I can plan ahead, and then make dozens of contingency plans for what might happen if things don’t go the way I expect.
As one might imagine, weather can be particularly challenging for me.
This is where Dad comes in. He knows how I am about the weather. If there is anything at all going on meteorologically, I can count on him to give me a heads up or at the very least check on me. As confidant and self sufficient as I profess to be, I really need him to check on me. It makes me feel like I am not totally alone.
I remember years ago when my oldest daughter was just a baby and there were tornadoes all around Dallas County. I was terrified and absolutely sure both myself and that tiny defenseless creature were going to perish. I wasn’t just afraid – I was certain this was going to happen. So, of course, I called Daddy. He was postmaster at the DeSoto station at the time and I’m sure he had more urgent things to deal with as the tornado sirens blared and people were taking cover, than to talk to talk to me. But he did. In a calm voice he told me where to take cover and reassured me. He made me feel like I could manage the situation. He made me feel safe.
Since that day, I always hear from him when things get dicey. He calls to make sure I’m not stupid enough to go out on icy roads – that nothing, not even work is worth taking a risk with my safety. And usually I’m right where I should be waiting out the storm or lingering conditions. But even so, just hearing his calm, comforting voice and that “I love you” before we hang up makes me feel like he’s right here watching over me – keeping me safe like when I was a terrified scrawny little kid snuggling up next to him during an early summer thunderstorm.
On that afternoon the skies were so black it seemed like nighttime had settled over our house. The hot winds shifted and the air was chilled. We walked through the house together opening windows before settling on the nubby beige sectional sofa in the living room. Then we watched an afternoon baseball game on our black and white Motorola. As I scrunched up next to him, as close as I could get without climbing up in his arms, he narrated the game, explaining the rules and offering details about the teams and which one we were rooting for. I’m not a sports fan by any definition of the term, but that day I hung on every word and focused intently on every swing and foul ball.
Eventually the storm passed and the clouds parted. I’m sure I scampered off to roller skate or ride my bike leaving him to watch the rest of the game like nothing had ever happened. But the event stayed with me. And whenever the winds of change blow through, he is the one I turn to and he never disappoints me.
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