When I was a teenager, I had no desire to have my driver’s license. So, while most of my fellow high schoolers were taking their cars or their parents’ cars to school each day, I was perfectly content riding with friends, my boyfriend, or occasionally catching the bus that ran through our neighborhood. I didn’t actually get my license until well into the summer after high school graduation.  And, if there ever was an awful driver, I was it. My mom made me practice backing down the driveway over and over. I couldn’t make it down without scraping the underbelly of her car. I was just terrible. 

One balmy day, my mama sent me in her car down Fendler Pkwy, to the store on the corner. Less than a mile to travel, and I couldn’t even make it a hundred feet down the driveway. As I was backing up, I ran into a tree that sat to the left of our house. I pulled forward and got out to inspect the damage. It was scraped.  It was scuffed. And, it was definitely noticeable, especially since my mama was watching the entire situation unfold through the kitchen window. She was fit to be tied. My grand journey to the store was not happening any time soon. 

My mama told me to pull the car back into the garage. She told me that my Dad would be home soon and that I’d have to tell him about my “incident.” She was never the kind of mom who would say, “Just wait until your father gets home.” But, she did hold us accountable to tell our own truths. 

I went to my bedroom and fretted and cried, not wanting to tell him. I didn’t want to disappoint him, and I was upset that I had injured my mama’s car. The afternoon lasted forever, it seemed. I heard him come through the screen door into the living room. I heard muffled talks. I listened for footsteps down the hall to my room. I listened harder. Nothing. 

Then, I heard my dad’s booming radio announcer voice, “Jannan Lynn, get out here right now!”  Oh, Lord have mercy on my teenage soul! 

I crept down the hallway, praying that it would never end. But, alas, it did, and I was facing my father in all his fury. He said, “Come out to the backyard.”  I obeyed. I pushed open the sliding glass door and stepped outside. I was completely astonished at what was before me.  Not a lecture or a punishment, but instead, a giant pile of branches in flames. He touched my shoulder and compassionately said, “Baby, that tree won’t bother you any more.” 

I stood there with tears on my cheeks and so much relief in my heart.  This man bestowed mercy when I needed it. This man saw my fears and worry as much larger than the dents on my mother’s car. This man loved me so much, that he chopped down a tree to hopefully improve my driving! 

He is the daddy that I think about this Father’s Day. He is still that daddy. He will always be the best daddy to me, even after all these years. Thank you for loving me enough to teach me that my feelings are more important than my mistakes. I love you, sweet Daddy. 

Happy Father’s Day