I got a letter from my dad a few weeks ago. I opened the envelope to find a half sheet of paper with this tidbit of wisdom typed up. No "Hi, how are you?" or even a "Dear Cozette," coupled with a "Love, Dad." He offered no explanation of where he found this quote, who Fulton J. Sheen was, or any kind of normal letter-writing behavior. Yet in the lack of explanation, of colloquial small talk, I realized that although sometimes I forget, my father knows me better than almost anyone. He may not be the person I tell all my problems or chat up with my girl talk, but he understands the way I think and feel.
During junior high I started collecting quotes as a kind of hobby. I wrote anything I deemed worth remembering down in a spiral bound notebook with Napoleon Dynamite on the cover which my sisters gave to me. I carried it around everywhere, whipped it out during movies, conversations, school. I added to my collection over the years with higher quality journals and a Quotes section in the Notes application on my Blackberry. One time while rifling through my parents books and stuff in their office, I found a small green book with gold outlining on the cover. I flipped it open and found pages and pages filled with my dad's scrawly, impossible-to-read lawyer handwriting that scribbled out quote after quote after quote. Some were funny, others inspirational, many were from Sherlock Holmes novels. And I realized we had never really talked about quote-collecting and this was a trait and habit I had inherited unbeknownst to either of us. Now that I come to really think about it, the book that first sparked my interest in quote collecting was called "Wisdom from Dad," a father's quote journal published by his son after the father died. It was arranged topically, filled with quotations from presidents to prophets, anonymous proverbs to what the author called "Dad-isms." Coincidence?
In one sentence, my dad addressed what hours spent on the phone with other family or friends, or Facebook chats, or talks with Travis on the couch or in bed during restless, stressful nights could sometimes only help to achieve. In one sentence, he established not only pathos but ethos by relating to me in a deeply personal way that I've used as a medium nearly my whole life - written word.
I am the kind of person who truly believes, "it's the thought that counts." Not as an excuse for a lame present or unfinished presentation, but as a quality that is just as important as what is physically given. One of the best presents I ever received was a book of classic American poetry, a journal, and a pen from a dear friend. In that small bundle, the flattery and excitement came from the depth of understanding this person had of me rather than from the gifts themselves.
Although my dad may have merely sent this short letter to suggest we begin a new pen-pal tradition, his small token of affection resulted in much more. In a period in my life full of change and turmoil and feelings of one of the few things I truly fear - inadequacy - I needed these words of wisdom. During times of adversity I often look to my parents' examples for the will to carry on. They have overcome unbelievable trials and pains and have come through scathed but strengthened. Hearing their stories, however, I often put their abilities on a pedestal. I would never suggest their struggles were somehow easier to bear than mine, but sometimes I catch myself thinking that they were able to deal with them because my mom and dad are just better, stronger, more faithful than I am. And even though I know this is not necessarily true, I still fear sometimes that I will never rise to their level and become a person that my children and others will revere and respect as much as I do them.
In one sentence, my dad not only demonstrated that he knows me better than I ever thought he did, but that he does because he has faced similar trials and has used this wisdom to aid in overcoming them. He knows me because he has walked where I'm walking and seen what I'm seeing and felt what I'm feeling. In one sentence, he has empowered me to become who I want to be right now instead of waiting for something to change or get easier.
This morning was just one of those mornings. Even though I slept for way too long and was no longer sleepy, I woke up so tired. Exhausted from the day-to-day stress, loneliness, and uncertainty of life right now. Getting out of bed seemed too big a feat. I was already conquered by anxiety and sadness by 7:02. A lack of physical sickness forced me up and to work where I could just feel a dark raincloud hovering over me, drenching me in the blues. As I fought through my melancholy mood, I remembered this quote, the feeling of overwhelming emotion as I read it for the first time and my choked-up voicemail on my dad's cell later that day expressing my gratitude and appreciation for this small but very influential gesture of kindness.
Remembering that, I decided to paint my skies blue and sunny, and I was happy.
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