On a hot Summer night in Lincoln, Nebraska, when the darkness had made the heat more bearable, I went for a run.  I was thirteen years old, and it was the first time I had ever run for the point of running. 

My Dad was headed out for one of his usual runs that night, and he invited me along.  If my memory serves me correct (it might not these days, but oh well), we ran along the sidewalk on 27^th Street.  I can see it in my mind very clear.  And I can see running with my Dad on Calvert Street, and around the Lincoln Country Club.  And I remember going to Nebraska football games with my Dad.  And hunting for the perfect Christmas tree.

You see, my Dad taught me how to run.  And he taught me how to walk steady.

And running is what I’m still doing, nearly forty years later.  And walking steady, through the richness, the unpredictability, and the changes that life brings.  

My Dad is not able to run with me anymore, but he sure still cheers on his grandkids as they make their way through life.  It’s getting harder for him to keep up with the pace at which the world moves, but he continues to bring wisdom and goodness into each of our lives.  We know to be quiet when he has something to share, because unless it’s one of his corny jokes, what he has to say is worth hearing.  And, sometimes, even the corny jokes are worth hearing. 

My Dad is showing me what it looks like to grow older with courage and tenacity, acceptance and strength.  He can verbalize that he’s slowing in the way he moves and thinks, and that he doesn’t get as much done in a day.

But I want him to know that it’s okay.   That our lives are forever better for who he has been and who he is for each of us.  That having him in our court has given us strength and courage.  Future generations of this family will know about “Papa”: the proud Marine, the Nebraska farm and ranch boy, the marksman, the writer, the hunter and fisherman.  The man who loved his family well.

And for today, I’m privileged to share my gift as a dementia and aging specialist to support my folks as they accumulate gray hairs.  They will never be a burden.  And while the future may bring us challenges, I speak for the whole family in saying that we’re here, and we’ve got your back.

Happy Father’s Day, Dad.  I’m glad you’re mine.