Happy father's day, pop

     I have had the pleasure of being raised by a father who loves me.  True, he is unique, funny, and not always predictable, but he has always loved me.  In honor of this day, I thought I would share a few memories...

•      I was a small girl, only in first grade, with blonde hair that was mostly fastened in pig-tails or pony-tails.  At this time, I was teased every day by a bully named Jeff.  He sat across from me at our table.  He made fun of my Fairfield -Variety-brand jellies that I so proudly wore.  He said I wasn't smart because, at that time, I couldn't read very well.  Anyway,  my pop heard about this.  He decided that the most direct route would be to handle it himself (yeah, I know--every principal's dream, right?).  So, he waited for Jeff one day at recess.  He walked right across the asphalt, right up to the jungle gym, right up to Jeff and said, Don't you ever say another mean word to my daughter, Jessica, again.  You will not ever make fun of her again, do you understand? Well, Jeff understood.  He was also very scared and reported the incident to his parents, who reported the incident to the principal.  Shortly after, my pop was told he was not aloud on school property again--with the exception of dropping off and picking up his kids.  Yeah, the Reverend Bruce Latshaw was banned from Wilmington Christian School.  Kind of ironic.  However, Jeff never made fun of me again.  Thanks, Pop.  
  
•           I remember staying up late, me and Jonathan eagerly talking to pop about everything having to do with the spiritual realm.  Of course, the topic kept getting around to demon stories; we would just beg and beg to be told about them.  And then, we would get that delicious thrill of fear and excitement.  And pop would always make sure to tell us that we have authority over them, because of Jesus.  But we would still end up sleeping in my parents room that night, authority and Jesus and all.   
•          I remember pop eating his own delicious concoction of powdered-sugar-donut-cereal.  Yep, you heard right.  He would take powdered donuts, break them into pieces, put them into a bowl, and pour milk over them.  Then he would proceed to eat the milk-soaked donuts with a spoon.  I grew up thinking this was a normal snack.  It wasn't till I started going over to friend's houses that I realized my pop was the only one who did this.
•          I remember gathering around the piano at Christmastime.  We had just put the tree up, the smell of hot chocolate is wafting through the air, and we start to sing carols.  I am playing, while the rest of the family is singing.  And boy, does pop sing.  He weaves throughout melody and harmony, depending on his mood.  It is so much fun.  
•         I remember playing Truth and Dare as a family in our beach house.  We all think it is hysterical when pop chooses the dare over the truth.  Cause now he has to stick his head outside the window and produce a blood-curdling scream.  We lose ourselves to laughter as we listen to him do this; we can only hope that there are many neighbors outside to hear him too.   
•        My pop at parties is a sight to behold.  My family thinks it's so funny because he always acts like he is not a social butterfly, like he would rather be reading his Bible or something.  But the truth of the matter is that when he walks into a party he is generally the loudest person there and has a smile for everyone.  He draws people into conversation and laughter comes very easily to him.  So, pop, nobody believes you that you don't love parties.  Sorry.  
•         I remember going on long drives, either to somewhere or on our way home.  Pop is driving and mom is sitting in the front seat right beside him.  And they are talking.  Truly, deeply talking.  They are interested in each other's thoughts and opinions and are captured by their thread of conversation.  So often you see couples who have been married for a while run out of things to say; they lose interest in each other, as if they have heard it all before.  Not so with my pop and mom.  They discuss everything--from matters of the heart, to practical day-to-day things.  I am grateful that they showed me that--it's something to shoot for.   
  
•        A friend from my church, Jacob, is simply entering into a time of worship.  He lifts his hands, palms up, in a gesture of surrender to God.  Pop walks by at this time, and what does he do?  He gives Jacob a high-5 with both hands.  Enough said.  

     So, happy Father's day, pop.  I love you; you are truly interesting and I love having you as my father!