“Dad”

The Spouse and I both use iphones (which we are also both addicted to), and so we therefore both “sync” them to our computer at night to recharge, update calendars, etc. Somehow, in the process of doing this our contacts also got “synced” or merged, meaning that we now have one huge list of the same contacts on both phones. Many times I forget this. Like yesterday.

Both girls were down for a nap when I heard my phone vibrate and looked over to see “Dad” on the caller ID screen. Would you believe that even nearly five years after my dad passed away, I still, if only for a second or two, actually thought it was him calling me? It’s amazing how much emotion and imagination can be packed into those few seconds between glancing at that familiar name on the screen and actually answering the phone.

I suddenly remembered all the times I called Dad during his work day to ask him some random question that he would quietly (or often wittily) answer. Or, the countless times I’d call to ask if he wanted to meet me at Schlotzsky’s for lunch. And, even when I could sense he was too busy, he always said yes. Or, there were the occasional calls I would make about some perceived medical emergency affecting me or a friend… knowing all along what he would say in his characteristically casual way, “You’re fine. Don’t worry about it.” And, then I wouldn’t. Oh, how his voice could calm.

Of course, the “Dad” on my phone was referring to my father-in-law who was calling with a quick question. He is a fine example of a kind, gentle and godly father himself. The Spouse is blessed to call him “Dad”, and I am blessed to know him as my “Dad-in-law.” My dad would have grown to respect him as much as I do, and I know they would have become dear friends who shared lively conversation over healthcare and politics and mutual joy over watching (and participating in!) the antics and adventures of their granddaughters.

I’ll know now not to be so caught off guard when “Dad” appears on my caller ID. But, I appreciate the bittersweet reminder that it was to me yesterday. And, I find much joy in knowing that the prankster in my fun-loving, dry-humored father would have enjoyed every minute of playing such a little phone trick on his eldest. I miss you, Dad.