Dad

It's another Father's Day, so in honor of my dad, Bill Kampe, I'm re-posting this blog (as I seem to do every year), that I wrote many years ago. Happy Father's Day, Dad. I miss you. More now than ever. I could really use your advice and wisdom, because the world and life are crazy right now.


My dad died about 15 years ago. That’s something that I never thought I would have to say, let alone write in a blog. “My dad died.” You always look at your parents as being somewhat immortal; especially dads. But in the natural order of this physical life, they die. And I suppose that a small part of us was created to expect it. It's natural to lose your parents one day, but it doesn’t make it any easier on the soul that breaks, and carry's the crack in it for the rest of our lives. 

Each time I talk about my dad, and get to the point of discussing his death, I feel my eyes water up and my voice cracks just a bit; even today. It’s funny, but I miss him more as the years go by. Some thought will pop into my mind, some issue that I want to share with him, or something will happen where I could really use his advice. It’s funny, but sometimes I have to remind myself that he’s not there.

When he was in grade school, my now 17 year old son was experimenting with his electronic set and asking questions that were a little out of my field of knowledge. My dad was an outstanding electrical engineer and I began to tell my son about how this was the kind of stuff that Paw Paw did for a living. He didn't realize it at the time, but dad would have loved teaching him how it all worked and the fact that his grandson was showing some aptitude in this area would have filled him with so much pride. More than likely, my son Lucas will be an engineer. He'll be majoring in engineering in the Fall. How I wish that my dad could see that.

But my dad was so much more than that, and this is how he connected with both of his grandsons. He was also an deeply introspective thinker, a poet, a philosopher, and he loved this first grandson, my 24 year old, more than life itself. I sometime meditate on the deep philosophical conversations that they would have had, and the advice on love and living life to it's fullest that he would have passed on. I can only hope to pass on that same wisdom as gracefully and lovingly as my dad did with me.     

It’s funny, but I can still hear my Dad’s voice, as clear as if I had just talked with him a few days ago. When I’m away from my boys, and others that I love deeply, I sometimes forget their voices, but I remember my dad’s voice. I remember the deep tone it had and the calm and methodical way he spoke, as he stroked his beard. When he was excited or passionate about something, he would get more animated and stutter a little. That’s how you could tell that he was really engaged and interested in the conversation. But when he was distraught, concerned, or even angry, especially with his rebellious son, he always remained calm, listened and found a way to solve the problem.

I remember my dad coming home from work late in the day. He would open the door quickly and come through with a big stride. He always had the paper in his hand and would lightly hit me with it. “Hey, guy!”, he would say with a big smile, and would go in the kitchen to say hi to Mom. That “dad smell” would waft passed me as he went by, and I felt comfortable. I felt safe. Dad was home.

I’ve learned that being a dad is much more difficult than being a son. My dad once shared with me that I would never feel the same security that I did when I was a boy living at home, once I had my own family. And he was right, to an extent. I’m the one who carries the burdens and fights the monsters of the soul that used to live under the bed. I’m the one that is responsible for creating the safe structure of home and peace that my boys can rest in. As a divorced dad, that is often quite a challenge, but I do the best I can.

But like I said, my dad was only right to an extent. I believe that even though I have the enormous responsibility of being a father, the burden is not 100% on my shoulders. I'm simply a spiritual steward of these amazing gifts that God has given me. God still calls the plays; we just carry the ball. And I do feel some shades of that security that I once felt as a child from time to time. When I feel close to God and the presence of spirit is evident, flowing around me, I feel safe. When I come to him as a little child, and rest in his arms, I feel peace. And as I comfort my boys and do my best to create the peaceful structure that they deserve, I feel God doing the same for me. He’s my Father. He’s Dad. (John 20:17)

My dad believed in God, but I don’t know if he felt the same security of which I’ve learned to depend. I think that he carried a lot of burdens that he didn’t realize were not his to carry. Burdens that I carry myself. My grandfather, his dad, died when my Dad was only 9 years old. He had to learn how to be a dad with only a small point of reference. He had to learn to depend on himself for much of his life and that made him his soul just a but harder. He grew up without a father and I often wonder how much different his life would have been had his dad lived a longer life. And for that matter, what would my life be like today?

Either way, dad did his very best at raising two boys, and he did a damn good job; maybe better than me. I told him that a few years before he died. I simply told him that I know that he did his best, that being a dad is difficult,that I loved and appreciated him..He said that that was one of those things you wait your entire parenting life to hear. I hope to hear that someday, and I hope that my boys will grow up feeling just a little more security than I did. Not security from me, but from God, who wants them to have a peace that transcends all of their understanding. (Philippians 4:7) I want them to feel that security of knowing that everything is OK. It’s taken care of. Dad’s home.