Just a Little Father's Day Note to My Father (Obviously)

I woke up this morning and started cleaning our kitchen, trying to make it presentable for at least a few hours. As I loaded the dishwasher, I took a few minutes to reorganize the dishes already in it, to maximize the cleaning potential and fit more dishes in, while also trying to avoid melting plastic on the bottom shelf.

I am officially my father's daughter.

There are certain times in your life when you feel the impact of your parents' influence in your life. Moments when you know exactly who made you who you are. Moments where the nurture vs. nature debate skews completely nurture. The moments when you feel one parent's specific impact are especially poignant.

For me, the moments when I know my father's impact on my personality and habits usually comes when I'm loading the dishwasher.

And by usually, I mean always. Not a dishwasher load goes by where I don't hear my dad's voice explaining the "proper" way to load the dishes. Utensils should be sorted when they're loaded to make for easier unloading. I don't care how well the dishwasher can clean the plates, I'm still going to pre-rinse them before so the washer doesn't get all clogged and gross. There are just better ways to load dishes than others - and I'm trying to teach my roommates that, though they don't seem to see it the way I do....

But dad, your influence in my life has extended beyond kitchen cleaning. Indeed, you've shown how enjoyable vacuuming can be, when you've got a good book to listen to. The way you vacuum the house makes me think there aren't many things more therapeutic than a good 2-hour vacuuming session. I've recently come to appreciate a solid ironing session, provided I have something interesting to watch as I iron. A manicured lawn is high on my list of "great things in the world" and I only wish our lawn service people were as good as you taught me to be at mowing the grass - our grass is so uneven, they don't seem to take it slow enough for the blade to cut evenly, the brutes.

Though they've been an obvious consequence of growing up under your tutelage, my cleaning habits are not the only part of me that reflects you.

I love a good, thought-provoking book. And I like to talk about those books, and the thoughts they've provoked. And I like to talk about them with you, in particular.

When I smell freshly-mowed grass, I think of cross-country season. I never would've had such an association if you weren't such an avid runner my whole life, turning our family into a running family. Goodness knows I wouldn't have run cross-country if it wasn't a Barlow tradition to uphold...which I'm now grateful for (and was then, though I didn't appreciate it quite as much during practices).

I play devil's advocate sometimes with people. I think I learned this from growing up listening to you cheer for whatever football team was playing against our beloved Packers, just to balance mom's home team enthusiasm. Your needling during close games was the only time I saw mom be visibly angry with you.

I write in my journal, not as often as I should, but as consistently as I can. I used to think I did this just because I kind of like writing. But you've kept a journal over the course of your life, and I've seen that, and we've talked about it. And I think I keep writing because of those reasons. I still remember a simple conversation we had in the kitchen once when I was a teenager, when I mentioned something about my journaling, and how I'm not really sure there's anything really valuable in it, and that I always seemed to end things with, "things work out in the end" or "it wasn't a big deal" or something like that. And you mentioned that perhaps my granddaughter would read those entries one day, and she'd see that her grandmother went through similar experiences as she was going through, and that I knew things would be okay, and they were okay, and she could take comfort in that for her own life. Or something to that effect. I don't remember the specific words you used - but I remember thinking that I wanted to be a good support to my grandkids, like you imagined, so I write in my journal.

I can never make someone a sandwich without wanting to cut out a small corner for "tithing." I think I actually learned what tithing really was through your object lessons with my bagels and pb&j sandwiches.

Dad, thanks for helping make me who I am. Thanks for being a man of many interests and full personality. Thanks for being the clean-cut stake president whom I caught watching WWE some Monday nights. Thanks for totally understanding and loving Jane Austen - I love talking Emma with you ("badly done, Emma!"). Thanks for every single twist cone after every single piano lesson you picked me up from.


I will always, always, always think of you when I see or hear about the movie, Carrie. Thanks for sticking that movie out with me that one time. It's a constant source of happiness in my heart, and it makes me smile every time I think of us watching that dreadful horror movie together. Same goes for the Happiness of the Katakuris (what a weirdo movie).

When I see the Tour de France on tv, I picture you in the basement of our Wisconsin home, pedaling hard on the stationary bike to keep up with the US team as they navigate the roads of France, your foster home those 2-3 years of your and mom's young adult life.

When I think of reading the Hobbit, I think of you. I've read chapters 1 & 2 with you about 7 times over the course of my life. If I ever make it past chapter 3, we'll have to throw a party. I don't think it'll happen unless I'm reading from that beautiful green hardcover edition of yours - that lovely book is the only reason I've ever wanted to read it anyway.

There are so many other things that make me think of you and so many ways that I am truly my father's daughter, but for now, this list will have to do. Thanks for giving me your smile, your discomfort with matching other people, and your love these 27 years of my life. I love you right back. You're kind of a darling dad, and I've been so lucky to end up a little bit like you!