This Is The Day

I didn't exactly know what to name this blog when I began, but I rather like the name and the purpose. Writing brings me peace and when my fingers fly across the key, I feel as though I can express what roars within, maybe not always as eloquently as I would like, but nevertheless, for some reason it is theraputic, and that is good. I still find myself repeating the scripture that started this whole process, when times were, and are, tough, I repeat once, twice, as many times as necessary, "this is the day the Lord has made, let us rejoice and be glad in it". I find my way to get to the next moment with the strength of a loving, promising God.

Well, this is the day...this is the day that marked my father's birthday. He is heavy on my heart, as I wrote about yesterday, and today, though maybe not doing it justice, I want to tell a story about my father, one I learned AFTER he was gone, and in an unlikely place, years removed and miles away.

I was a school principal, doing my best to secure funding for a camping trip for our 5th graders. Prior to my arrival in this school, the DARE officer had found local resources to fund the trip, but business budgets were declining and there seemed to be very little support. I stopped off at the local Parking Spot Garage one evening to see if a face-to-face meeting would help. In doing so, I met a very nice lady who referred me to the new manager. I was to contact him the next day and when I did so, he explained just how his new boss was not inclined to make this happen, after all, budgets were cut and politics were involved (naturally, I won't get into that part of the story). It seemed a dead end. We continued chatting for a minute as I made my appeal about our "city" kids not having real-life opportunities and that this is perhaps the ONLY experience like this that some would have...the new manager agreed to stop by my office later that day, just to see the school and see if there was another type of support he could lend. He did as promised, and as we visited in my office, we laughed about camping, he asked me if the principal attends, and I said, NO, the Assistant Principal LOVES to camp (and that was true!). I shared that my camping experiences were limited and that even as I was Jennifer's Girl Scout troop leader, we earned our badge by "camping" at the Holiday Inn in Hannibal after visiting Mark Twain land! He laughed and then we led to where we grew up...and lo, and behold, both of us grew up in Vandalia, Missouri, a very small town where everyone knows your name! I had sensed he seemed familiar all along, but there was no reason to believe that I knew him. So, we, of course, reminisced, and spoke of our families and siblings. Me, being a bit older than him, well, we had never really crossed paths. There was another reason, he was a black man, and in our day, in this small town, I cannot believe it, but the "colored people" lived on their own side of town. One thing led to another and he spoke of his relatives and a particular aunt of his and I began to see how this story was going to unravel. You see, my brother had been hit by a car when he was 5 years old, by a black woman travelling down the main street of town. David was thrown by this car as he got off the school bus, and landed many feet away, maybe even almost a town block. It was a devastating time for our family as we didn't know whether David would make it through, but I remember my Dad's rendition, or do I remember the actual event...there was concern that if David lost his life, what would happen, and I remember vividly my father saying, "I will do what I need to do, I have two other children who need me"....(and some wonder how our family gets its strength...what a legacy). At any rate, the town was in an uproar, encouraging my father to sue this woman, to get revenge, it was very ugly. But my father remained stoic and did the right thing, always stating that she didn't set out to do harm, that it was a true accident and that she most likely had her own demons about what had happened, and that he didn't need to add more.

As the story goes, I was sitting in that school office, talking with the manager and we discovered that the lady was his aunt, and he knew my father. His "kinfolks" adored my father, and were ever grateful to him for supporting the woman who had nearly run over his son. And support her he did, he gave her a job at the local factory that he managed, AND I found out from Brian, he went to that part of town, in his big yellow buick, every Friday night with groceries and clothes from the factory for those in need. Of course, I never knew, there was no need to, for my father was the silent giver. He never wanted recognition, he just did the right thing.

Brian left my office and HE did the right thing, our students received $4500.00 in money orders so they could each go to camp. I don't know how Brian found the money, but he did, and he paid it forward, as they say.

Thank you, Dad, and Happy Birthday, as we continue to get through trying times with your legacy in place and the desire to help others at all times, when we can and how we can. I know you and Mom and Allison have found your way to keep sprinkling the magic. Love, Kathy