My dad passed away in July of 2021. As goes the oft-spoken phrase, it was a relief. For the last few years of his life, Dad had not been the man who had refurbished a bike for me; painted a roadway on the blacktop of our driveway; always opened his wallet (even if there were only a few bucks in it); helped me move in and out of my dorms at Longwood College; attended graduations and weddings and births and holidays; and kept his yard golf-course groomed.
His heart was failing when he died. It had been failing for almost a decade. He’d had multiple pacemaker/defibrillators implanted and watched his diet and fluid intake. He beat the trend of men in his family, living into his eighties when his father, grandfather, great grandfather, and a slew of uncles and cousins only made it into their seventies.
Over the years, Dad taught me many lessons. He tried to teach me even more, but I was a kid who knew everything - at least until I was knee-deep in nonsense from which I called to him for rescue. He always came, rarely had an “I told you so,” and always offered the kind of grace I strive to offer.
This past December was going to be the first without my dad. The “Merry Christmas“ and “Happy New Year” messages he had always shared wouldn’t coming this year.
A team of us from my county went to the VSTE conference in Roanoke and had an amazing time. I learned so much and made some connections which will help me be better in my position as a director. My dad was on my mind, but honestly not at the front of it.
On the second night of the conference, our team headed for an escape room. It was a great team-building opportunity and is just plain fun. I won’t give away any of the secrets of the escape (which our team completed, because we’re awesome), but one of the challenges in the room involved matching a model car from the 1950’s with something else in the room to open a locked box.
As I turned the box over and over in my head I remembered something my dad had told me countless times about classic cars and how their twilights could be used to identify the year and how model years were always a few months off. Recognizing the make, model, and approximate year of the car, I was able to turn the tumblers on the lock and open it. After we completed the escape, the staff member assigned to us told me he’d never seen someone figure out that lock without trying to match the numbers with the other item in the room. I smiled and said,”it was a lesson from my Dad.”
Now, I‘m no genius. There were plenty of other locks in that room opened by other members of our team, but that lock I opened made me smile then and makes me smile now. Even after being gone for months, my dad came through for me.
Don‘t miss the little moments to share something, to pass along a skill, or spin a tale. Your passion can become a timeless lesson. Those “hey, did you know?” moments can be the ones that make an impact decades down the road.
Always look for the moments of impact and #DontBeAfraidToBeAwesome!
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