I could have cared less when I turned 30. Or 40. Or even 50. Another day, another year. No biggie.
Turning 53, however, seems a bit more significant. Let me explain.
When I was 24 years old, an evening phone call let me know that my dad died suddenly of a heart attack at the age of 52. My dad was larger than life, my hero, the one I wanted to model, the man who shaped my life forever. He was a force of nature. I was convinced he was fount of all knowledge, and he always seemed to have it all figured out.
At age 23, the age of 52 seemed a long way off. The past almost-30 years in many ways represent a long time. I have been without my dad in a physical presence longer than he was with us. I have been without his voice longer than I was with it. My adulthood has taken place without him. Both my children have been born since his death, and my teaching career, my moves, my divorce, my remarriage, and all the other events of my life outside of childhood and college have been without his physical presence. I never got a chance to talk to him as an adult, asking those basic adult survival questions. Very few in my life now even know my dad more than what I have said of him.
So, today, as I turn 53, I realize I am now older than he ever was.
At age 53, I understand why, according to witnesses, he said in his one moment before collapsing, “God, not now.” There was so much left for him to see and experience.
At age 53, I realize that he probably didn’t know everything.
At age 53, I realize that he probably didn’t have it all figured out.
In some ways I have been thinking of this day since September 3, 1993, knowing that at one point I would be older than he ever was, and I thought by that point, I would know who I was, what life was all about, and what all the answers were. That has not happened. In fact, I am more aware now about all that I DON’T know than I ever have been.
However, I believe death does not end our influence. I have seen him in the care my son has for children, the mannerisms and appearance of my other son, my love of a freshly-mown lawn, my inability to remember words to songs, and my imagination of his presence in important moments of my adult life (and my kids’ lives).
So, at age 53, there is a sense of time as a treasure I cannot dismiss. Each day now is a treasure my dad never got, even though he made it a goal “to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life” (Thoreau—p.s. this was one of my dad’s favorite quotes).
I still don’t have life figured out, but here are some key truths I learned from him and truths that have been reinforced from my own life experiences in the past 53 years:
1. Don’t follow the crowd. Be yourself. Listen to the beat of your own drummer (again, Thoreau). My dad taught me to avoid waiting in the big line where everyone else is-–literally and figuratively. Find your own door and open it for those coming behind you.
2. Be silly at times. Adults don’t always have to be serious. One of my life-long memories will be of him rolling down the hills at Biltmore Estates, regardless of what other tourists thought. Another one will be of me 14 years ago in my Easter best outside throwing snowballs at the church kids, soaking wet and freezing cold, but knowing this moment would never be repeated.
3. Pay attention to children. Read to them. Throw balls. Stack toys. Put stuffed animals on top of your head and have them fall off. Let them wrestle you. Sing with them. Soak in their innocence and their awe. Children understand the truths of life better than we adults ever will.
4. Pay attention to EVERYONE. No one is too small or unimportant. Some of my favorite people are those who are my serving staff at a restaurant or the cashiers at the convenience store who smile and work as hard as they possibly can. As Dad taught me, they are more than employees. They are people.
5. Don’t be afraid to feel. My dad was the type who would cry at TV shows, during Sunday School lessons, during talks to his high school students, and definitely at my wedding. Just the other day someone asked me when I cry, and my reply was, “Pretty much, any time.I have cried when I am happy, depressed, angry, worried, grieving, and overjoyed.”
6. Tell people you appreciate them. I still have some of the notes Dad left Mom to tell her how much she meant to him. I know he left notes in faculty boxes, small words of encouragement. People need to know you see them and value them.
7. Take joy in the small things. A nice edge to a lawn, a blossoming flower, a growing tree, a good movie, a book, a job well done, or a task completed—all of these can bring joy.
8. Cultivate lasting friendships and relationships. Friends who are like family can keep you going when life gets tough.
9. Live like today may be it. As Dad said the week of his death, “I want to jump into the grave,” meaning that he wanted to live every day completely and fully (P.S. it sounds like he knew what would happen, but I seriously don’t think he did.). There are no regrets when you live life fully. No rocking chair life for me.
10. Love. Love those whose lives intersect with yours. Notice those no one else notices. Love them, too. You don’t have to understand their life choices, but you can love. (P.S. Don’t use religious belief as an excuse to judge others. Love.) Hug. Be willing to be vulnerable. Love.
