It's Inconsequential

I left the concert while the band was marching through the last few stanzas of Sousa's "High School Cadets". I found myself behind a stooped, elderly man whose strides, had he been walking and not marching, were about 2/3 the length of my own. As I stepped out to pass him he saw me out of the corner of his eye and turning to me said "Ah, I see you were in my parade." Laughing, I answered "of course, anytime." And before I knew it his "Come on, 1 2 3 4 you can do better than that" had coerced me into marching along with him down the empty sidewalk. He had shriveled to about 5' 3" and sported a green old duffer's cap with "just himself" embroidered across the brim and a jaunty silver pin stuck beside it.

"Are you a Wheaton native?" he asked. "Michigan," I replied, "have you ever heard of Pentwater?" Oh, sure, of course he had. His daughter had gone to Michigan State and his son to Ferris. "Oh, my dad went to Ferris for awhile" I said, almost more to myself than to him. Apparently, they have a good school for nursing home administration, that's what his son had gone for. Falling out of step, I began to realize I wasn't sure what my dad had gone to school for. "Architecture?" I hesitatingly said, "maybe, I'm not sure."

"Oh yes," came the quick reply, "that's a tough program, five years at Southern Illinois."

Suddenly, I found myself realizing how strange it was that I didn't know what my dad had majored in. Was it really architecture, or had I made that up? Did it really matter if he was only there for a semester? It didn't matter. But not because he had only been there for a short period of his history. It was just, inconsequential.

Around here, what one's father majored in in college (or university, if you rather) and where he went affect one's life immensely. It's why he has the job he does and his children the things they enjoy. It can be the difference between whether one will worry about what school they are going to or whether one will fall naturally into a pedigreed-education debt free. That's just the way it is.

In my life, however, these things haven't mattered at all. Ok, sure, he probably would be making more money if he had finished, and life would have been different. But, it's mattered far more that, after imbibing a bit too much of the party life, my father decided he didn't want to be that guy who threw up on his date's shoulder and so he left school. He came home and grew up- got serious about his faith and became a husband, a farmer and a father. These are important facts in my life. They are the reason I still split open the buds on fruit trees in the Spring and smell the snow before it comes. They are the reason I have immensely sweet, bursting-with-joy, full memories of my football-player-turned-father hunkered down over a 2" cup of "tea" and a saucer of cookies with me- his very presence making me feel richer than the richest Queen in the world- and why I hope to someday find a man who delights in swinging his daughter over his head with his work-scarred hands too.

"Maybe it was architecture," I mused. And the duffer turned his lone column toward his car and said "Good sport! Have a good night."

Was it architecture? It's inconsequential.

But my farmer-father, my dear-old-daddy is not. I love you dad.