deb roush

I saw a Facebook post the other day in honor of Father’s Day asking, “What’s the best thing about your dad?” Later, on a long run, I reflected on that. What IS the best thing about my dad? If I could only pick one, it would have to be that he is an amazing teacher. So here, for Father’s Day, Dad, are five of my favorite lessons from you.

How to write a love letter:  The value of writing a letter to someone—particularly a love letter—cannot be overstated. ­­Dad, you taught me how to write them by sending them to me.  At 10, as we readied for our move from California to Pittsburgh and you left before we did, you mailed me a letter every few days. I still have every one of them, lovingly bundled in my keepsake box. You had bought new, jungle-themed stationary that was colorful and kid-like. And you made me feel special as you detailed stories of your work, described the snowfalls I would soon experience and created excitement for the adventure that would be our cross-county move. Throughout my life, you wrote special messages to me in valentine and birthday cards and penned letters to your parents who lived out of state. Writing love letters is a practice you modeled, and one I have continued. In fact, this very essay is a love letter – from me to you.

How to mow the lawn: I am an excellent lawn mower. I prefer to cut diagonally, and can trim, edge and use the blower to eliminate stray clippings. I learned it as a young girl and from the best—you. Knowing how to mow has come in handy. Terry has received compliments on how amazing his wife is when friends drop him off after a golf game, and I have mowed the yard to perfection. It’s just something that many women don’t do. You also had me take out the trash and taught me how to use a wrench and a screwdriver – giving me the toolbox I still own as a college graduation gift. This was more than a “how-to” on completing standard “male” jobs. You instilled in your girls that we – unquestionably – can do anything boys can do, and more importantly, anything we put our minds to.

It’s OK to sing loud in church: When it came to praising God through song, Dad, you have always done it joyfully and loudly. From the pews, your voice is robust and strong.  Though many a choir director tried to recruit you, until just a couple of years ago, you declined, saying someone had to “lead the congregation.” Lead you did. Boldly and beautifully, you belted them out. Now, when I’m in church, though I don’t have the same talent, I sing loud too. And when a familiar hymn plays, I hear your voice – almost like you’re singing alongside me. That reminds me of this: There are important times to stand up. It’s OK to stand out.  It’s noble to praise God, even when those around you are quiet.

This too shall pass: Living with anxiety isn’t easy. With my type-A personality has come worry and stress – more than is normal or healthy. There are only a handful of times, thankfully, that the anxiety has been almost more than I could handle, and during those times – though you may not have known just how stressed I was – I have called you, Dad. One time, years ago when we lived in Connecticut, we sat on the back porch and talked about it. During those conversations, calmly, you have told me, “This too shall pass.” There are others who tell me to “relax,” “Don’t worry about it,” or “Just calm down,” but because I respect you, trust you and look up to you so much, when you say, “This too shall pass,” I believe you. And it does.

Sometimes it’s not about the money: Of all of life’s lessons you have instilled in me, and certainly there are many more than the five I’m choosing to write about today, one of the most important is how to manage money. You have always told us to, “Watch your pennies and the dollars will take care of themselves.” We noticed as you diligently logged receipts into your “blue book,” where you carefully budgeted for everything from household expenses to family vacations. We have seen that pay off for you and Mom, who can now travel and enjoy the best things in life. That said, I also remember many a time where we squandered – and there’s really no other word for it – dollar after dollar playing Skee-ball at a beach arcade. Once, we had our eye on a belt buckle we wanted to win for you, and together the four of us laughed and played and competed against the game – ending up victorious! My memory is that you wore that buckle for years, though that may not be accurate. Either way, the memory has lasted, and so has the lesson – sometimes it’s not about the money. It’s about love and family.

Happy Father’s Day, Dad. I love you!

Deb