When I was a kid my dad bought a rusted out ’56 Chevy for a measly amount. We (mostly he) spent hours in the garage every week rebuilding it beginning with the frame and ending with the cloth seats and paint job. Everything was custom, shiny, and loud. When dad would pick me up from soccer practice or school before I got my own $300 car (1981 Renault Alliance) I would get used to hearing people exclaim, “Now THAT’S a car!”
I still remember when dad sold that car (we were all surprised) and bought a motorcycle in it’s place. But not just a motorcycle, of course, but a 1450 cc Harley Davidson Road King. It was once again shiny and loud. I think he enjoyed pulling up to the traffic light next to the young punk driving a 250 cc Honda Rebel. You can’t drive a Harley like that by a crowd without turning their heads and thinking, “Now THAT’S a motorcycle!”
Friday my dad got a call from the first one on the scene of my sister’s accident. My sister was asking for her dad (she’s 32) while wedged between the driver’s seat of her little Geo. It turns out “dad” is easy to find in the contacts list and the first place a stranger with a quick mind would go when looking for help for my sister. My dad was only a few blocks away and arrived on the scene to help pull Leah out of the car with the paramedics and put her on the medivac helicopter like he’s done hundreds of times before while saving countless lives during his 30 years as a paramedic. He has sat with her in the hospital now going on 48 hours and been a strong tower for all of us siblings to cry to on the phone during those first few hours from Italy, North Africa, and Virginia. Yesterday after Leah was complaining of serious pain he investigated and discovered that the nurse had hooked the tube from the “output” of the morphin directly back into the “input”. Hours of more pain diverted.
The great thing about heroic moments is that they never make the hero, they only bring him more undesired attention for who he already is. The same must be said about my dad today. This is only the pinacle moment for what he has been for his four kids for 35 years. I think if you’re reading this you’re probably thinking along with me, “Now THAT’S a dad!”
Finally, a dad is more like the dad he was made to be when he reflects our Father in heaven. For our Father is strong, courageous, loving, compassionate, and an ever present help in time of trouble.