Dad's Birthday

My dad, James Randal Roe, died in early June of 2003 (two weeks before my wedding). He was born on April 22, 1950. I ran across this note I wrote last year on his birthday. I thought I would share parts of it with you all today. Maybe it will make a difference in how you are with your dad and/or kids. That can be my dad’s birthday present today, that his life might affect yours.

4-22-2004
Today my dad would have been 54 years old. I think we would be planning what might have been his first 18-hole round of golf since having both hips replaced a few years ago. We had made it up to 13 holes before his death.

He would probably be fussing that I was considering ministry that was outside the denomination I grew up in. That would start an argument. It would be a good argument too. He would be unreasonable, as would I. But in the end, I would have known it was because he loves me that he was so concerned. And He wants to be right as much as I do.
Maybe he would have been feeling well enough by now to “go back to work”. (because of his hip replacement and kidney problems he had been on disability for a while). Maybe he and Mom might be thinking about moving to the farm together. (My mom’s parents own some land in SW Arkansas. They have a couple of old family homes that they rent out. Always been sort of a retirement plan for my parents). I think the prospect of moving to the farm always appealed to him…but it meant growing old. There were remnants of that 60’s rebellion against anything “old” left in his heart.

I think he was really stunted because of his environment growing up. Too many “do nots”. Too many rules without love first. I wonder what God meant when he created Randy? What was his “real name”? (reference to a Wild @ Heart thought by John Eldredge referring to our real purpose at the hands of the Creator). His real purpose? What was he supposed to be in the Kingdom? How sad it is that he never even knew that. God really had a purpose for James Randal Roe.

I miss you, Dad. You live on in Craig and Lola and Mom and in me. Maybe that was your purpose, to live on in us. Who knows but God? God is really working on Craig right now. Really stirring me up pretty intensely too. Hope your perspective on things is different now. Hope you can see what good is going on in our lives.

How I long to hug you again. I want to touch that wrinkled saggy face. (a kidney treatment they used, high doses of steroids, made him gain a lot of weight, somewhere around 240. He got down to around 155 a couple years after. He kind of had saggy jowels left over). I would love to argue again about something with you with such great excitement that you give up arguing, not on the merit of my argument, just because of my youthful passion. How I miss those talks…baseball, StL Cardinals, music, the new business dreams.

I am sorry for the times I wasn’t there. You were so sick and I was caught up in my own world. How I must have hurt your heart. (I was at odds with my parents over issues with my ex-wife, and allowed those to keep me from visiting very often during some of the worst of his illness). I love you. I longed for you even then. I just couldn’t manage my world that was crumbling around me. Sometimes I forget how bad things really were.
Then, when I was around again, you were relegated to sleeping so much we barely interacted. What a blessing those last couple of years were. I loved the music (who knew you REALLY could get anything you want at Alice’s Restaurant?). It was so cool to see the Eagles and Don Henley. You took me to some great shows, Chicago, Crosby Stills and Nash (even if they didn’t play one good old song, who wants to hear NEW CSN?), Huey Lewis, and who can forget the show of all shows….PAUL McCARTNEY.

I treasure the rounds of golf we played. Even at that God-awful “course” in that old Southaven neighborhood. You know, the one with CLOVER on the greens. How I miss playing catch. It was great when you could get up out of the bed again.

One of my fondest memories is softball. I idolized my homerun-hitting daddy. The rides all over South Arkansas on the back of that Yamaha Maxim 750 were true adventures to an 8 year old I remember the night you hit 3 homeruns. One of them went into a chicken coup. (I was a little scared to retrieve that one). And how fun it was playing together 10 and 11 years later. The summer we played on that combined church and work team was the greatest summer ever. To play 2nd base, or even be in the outfield behind you pitching was awesome. But the best was when the right side of the infield was made up of the Roes. It was priceless to field a grounder and to throw the ball to you. I loved that. Thanks, Dad.

Craig and I wanted to go to the cages and get some pointers from you if you ever felt like it. Sorry that never happened.

Thanks for teaching me to play tennis. You let me play a couple of games of doubles with you and your buddies when I was just 11. That meant a lot to me.

I wish you weren’t gone. My heart sometimes thinks it might bust with sadness when I realize you are really gone. I hate that. I miss you like it was yesterday that you died. You are my daddy. I love you. We were supposed to grow old and make fun of the next generation. You were supposed to laugh because my kids will do me the same way I did you. I am supposed to get to hear you called “Grampy” or “Grumpy Gramps” or something that sounds old and you hate until the first time it comes out of your grandbaby’s cute little mouth.

Your Mom didn’t get to call you at midnight. (My grandmother, we always referred to her as YOUR Mother or YOUR Grandmother, or YOUR Mother-in-law, because she was as difficult sometimes as she was sweet. Anyway, she always called him at 12 midnight on his birthday to be the FIRST to wish him a Happy Birthday).

I love you daddy. You frustrated me so much when you were here. You were quite good at it. Now I am frustrated that you are NOT here. Still causing frustration even in your absence. I miss you!

Dad, I won’t sell out. I am going to let God push me to my purpose. I will live the dreams that you didn’t get to. I will go for it all out. You watch. That will be my birthday present. And every birthday of yours that passes, I will be reminded to live the dream with passion. I don’t want to end up in a prison of my own making…scared and bored. I want to LIVE. For however long I am here I will live and live with heart from the heart. Free, wild and honest. True to the heart Father God put in me. I love you, Dad. I miss you more than I thought possible. Happy Birthday, Dad. I love you.

Topher

*and still today, a year later, not much has changed. I still miss my dad. Maybe more than ever. And I still want to live from my heart. I hope he sees it somehow.

If your dad is still alive, don’t miss out on the time you have. If you are estranged…RECONCILE. If you haven’t said “I Love You.” Say it. As clichéd as it sounds, you may not have another chance. Play the round of golf, go fishing, sit on the porch, make the phone call, DO SOMETHING. It will soon enough be gone.

If you ARE a dad, read this as if it were from your son. What you do matters to you kids. They love you, as frustrating as you are, they love you. Make more memories with them. Tell them you love them and are proud of them. Don’t wait.

Thanks for letting me share. --Chris