My dad has been working for the same employer for over forty years.
Let that sink in a little.
(Let’s face it, some of us reading this haven’t even been breathing for forty years, much less working for forty. )
My dad wears the same dress shoes every day to work. They’re nice shoes, with leather uppers, but after a couple years, when they get worn down, he sends them off to get re-soled. About every 5 years, he’ll get a new pair of work shoes.
Even though the days of mandatory dress shirts and slacks are long over in the professional world, and his colleagues often wear cargo shorts and flip flops, he still wears slacks and a button down shirt (he’s let the ties go), some of the dress shirts he’s worn week after week.
My dad really enjoys cooking. Every year around thanksgiving, he takes a week or two of vacation, and spends a great deal of that vacation baking four to six pies ranging from pumpkin, to apple, cherry, and pecan. (He also bakes a chocolate silk pie for my birthday).
My dad isn’t much of a social butterfly. He goes to work, to church, teaches a Sunday School class every Sunday, attends a church board meeting every month, and occasionally visits with family members and friends on the odd Friday or Saturday evening (a rare occasion).
As his daughter, I’ve wondered where I got the travel bug. During college, I stayed in my hometown but spent a summer abroad in a middle eastern country (see feature picture) and loved it. I couldn’t stand staying in my hometown for long, and a year after graduation, I moved across the country.
Growing up and in my early adult years (which I hope I still qualify for), I’ve wondered why my dad didn’t climb up the corporate ladder, or move more, or exhibit more of the hallmarks of “ambition” that we so often see lauded and praised in our society.
He made enough money to live comfortably, sure, but he refused to go into management, knowing that it wasn’t going to be something he enjoyed. He and my mom haven’t bought a new car in thirteen years, and my dad’s big splurge a couple years ago was a Roku box and mini computer to connect to the TV.
I suspected that my dad, being a kind of stick-in -the mud kind of person, was afraid of change, or of taking risks.
My dad is very financially savvy. He and my mother made sure I took a course on budgeting and financial planning in high school, and helped my figure out my taxes. Last year was this first time I did my taxes “without” my dad; I called him only about four times.
This year, I am in a new independent contractor position, which means I’m responsible for all of my taxes my employer doesn’t withdraw any before hand.
I called my dad in the middle of a workday because I was bordering on the hysterical after being told that I would need to send good ol’ uncle Sam close to a third of the money I’d made that year (and I’ll make barely above the poverty level for a family of five this year.)
He walked me through adding up the taxes for federal social security, and state taxes, and reluctantly confirmed that I would indeed owe that much. I was pretty mad, and frustrated, because I had been setting aside money to pay taxes, but it was not nearly enough; I would have to delve heavily into my savings to pay these taxes.
“I guess I’m not buying a car any time soon,” I quipped bitterly. I’ve been driving my parent’s car for the last three years, leaving them with one car to split between their own needs. I had been saving, and was preparing to buy one of my own in an attempt to give them back another car to call their own.
“Well, your mom and I have been meaning to talk to you about that.”
My Dad continued, “We’ve been thinking that, if you want, we can deed the car over to you, so you can use its trade-in value towards getting you a new car.”
I waited in silence for several seconds. I was expecting a second part to that sentence, like, “And you can pay back the difference when you can,” or something that would involve some sort of return on my parent’s already generous loan of their car that I knew had repeatedly inconvenienced them.
“Are you still there?” my dad finally asked. “Uh, yeah, ” I said, still shocked. “Was there a second part to that sentence? Like a part that helps you guys get a new car?” My voice cracked.
“No, that was all. We just want to make sure you get a good start in life.”
I still couldn’t take it in.
Twenty-five hundred dollars they’ve spent on repairs for the truck I’m driving in the last month.
Setting aside money in an investment fund to get me through a state public college debt-free.
Paying for food, exorbitant amounts of coffee, books, and more car repairs during my college career.
Sending me off cross-county with my parents’ car and spending money to see me safely to a job that I loved but didn’t pay worth jack.
Encouraging me to follow my passions and work hard, but not setting up any sort of pressures or expectations for what I should do.
And now, after paying for the upkeep of a car I had driven almost exclusively for the last four years, here was my ‘boring,’ stick-in-the-mud, extravagantly loving and dedicated dad sacrificing yet again for his daughter.
And I couldn’t believe it. My parents have already given up so much for their kids, and for me specifically, and yet here they are, willing to give more, to help me along.
The silence lengthened as I sat with my dad on the line, and the tears in my eyes broke down into sobs. I knew I was looking at God’s love head-to-head: the abundant, self-sacrificial love that wears the same pair of shoes to work every day and drives a seventeen-year-old car in order to give her daughter the best chance he can in life.
Love is patient. It sits up till ten or eleven o’clock at night helping his daughter with a college programming class even after spending eight hours at work staring at a computer screen.
Love is kind. He calms down his daughter after she gets into a car accident in the wilds of Vermont.
Love does not envy, does not boast, and keeps no record of wrongs.
Love keeps working at the same employer for 40 years, not because it’s fancy, or because he gets a lot of accolades (though he is very good at what he does), but because it’s a way he can express his steadfast love for his family by putting food on the table, clothes on our backs, pies in our mouths, and help us through college and the starting phases of life.
It’s the kind of steady, resolute love that I aspire to become.
It’s not a fast or flashy kind of love. It’s the kind of love that builds over time until it becomes a mountain that is unmistakably, unequivocally, lovely… And a destination most only dream of visiting.
How to be Human 