Let me tell you about your daddy.
Last night while watching the Super Bowl with some friends the conversation turned to a man who doesn’t seem to work long days but still manages to make enough to support his family. After agreeing that we all wish for that and then joking that no one wishes that they can work long hours only to make barely enough money to get by, I knew what was coming next.
“I’d do that for farming.”
Earlier in the day he had said it was past time to order seeds to start. You should see him with his seeds. He can spend hours leaning over soil gently placing them, and then checks them every day, adjusting the heating pad and speaking to them softly. I once wrote about it in a paper for school, dreaming about the day he will one day talk to you in the same soothing tone.
He lives for growing things. For getting his hands dirty. For being part of the ancient cycle of life and death and decay and renewal.
So when the commercial started and the popping sounds of the classic recording of Paul Harvey commercial started and the words “so God made a farmer” came, I watched him as he sat a little straighter. His breathing changed. He settled into it.
I know your daddy. I know that he already whispers to you the way he whispers to his other seeds. I also know that he’s already dreaming of the day he can teach you all about growing things, caring for animals and getting your hands dirty.