Father's Day

Father's Day (much like Mother's Day) is a holiday that provokes me into pulling down the blinds, crawling under the covers, and hiding until it's all over. This urge to avoid everything at all costs usually begins about a week out from the day and only gets worse as time progresses. Each year it gets even more obnoxiously difficult with websites like Facebook, where it seems everyone has changed their profile picture to one of their celebrated parent. The thought has recently crossed my mind to change my profile to a blank picture with the words "vacancy" slapped across the middle, but with much effort I have refrained myself (insert tiny golf clap for Peter here). In keeping with my "moving on" frame of mind, I have decided to focus on something different. Instead of remembering a man who epitomizes everything I strive not to be, I would like to take this opportunity to remember two men who came into my life at the right moment. One of whom I was never close enough to really open up to, and the other I've met only once. I'm not sure that they knew the impact they had on my life, or how grateful I am for it.

Uncle Charlie

He's not really my uncle. In fact I've only ever met him once when I was ten. But for several years, at 4pm each day, his voice would enter my home over the radio waves. Charlie VanderMeer was, at that time, the director and host of a children's radio program called Children's Bible Hour, now known as CBH. The religiously themed program consisted of music and a dramatized story. It was through this radio program that I first learned the difference between punishment and abuse. At the end of each program Uncle Charlie would provide an address that listeners could send letters to. One of the greatest things that my parents allowed me was the opportunity to write to Mr. VanderMeer, and I did so on a regular basis. Much to my delight, I always received a response from Uncle Charlie. I always felt as if I could write to him about anything (and I most certainly did).

Through the years, I'd grown to believe that the host of a radio program would probably have a secretary (and rightfully so), and that my correspondence was most likely with him/her instead. I believed this until very recently when I reconnected with Charlie via email. He remembered my letters and expressed how he had thought of me often. I can't begin to tell you how much that meant to me. The insight that Charlie and his radio program provided to me was invaluable. I would have never received it any other way. He is a constant reminder to me that you can have a huge impact on someone's life, even through the most peculiar circumstances.

Mark

When I was sixteen, I had a job at a pizza restaurant and Mark was the area manager that oversaw our location. Mark was notorious for his strict policies. Whenever we saw his Taurus pull into the parking lot a rush of whispers would echo throughout the store that he had arrived. Mark was stern and could be intimidating, so much so in fact that I recall witnessing him bringing several of his managers to tears. During that time in my life I was very quiet and withdrawn. I just wanted to go to work, do a good job, and perhaps make enough money to pay the bills. Somehow through all of my awkwardness, Mark saw something in me. He began to speak to me about my future, and was the first person to say the words "career" and "try harder". I had the pleasure of working for Mark for six years, and although I never fully came out of my shell around him he continued to invest time in me.

On my last day at the restaurant, before I moved to Atlanta, Mark dropped by my store to see me one last time and wish me well. Before he left, he hugged me and there were tears in his eyes. Like Charlie, I've fallen out of touch with Mark, but the impact that these two men had on my life is ongoing.

On Monday, Father's Day will be over. The greeting cards will have disappeared from the store shelves and all of the tv stations will begin to air Independence Day ads. On Monday, I will breathe a little easier when I log into Facebook; until then I'm going to celebrate in honor of Charlie and Mark.