Happy Birthday, Dad!

My dad is one of those people that sticks out in a crowd. He is 6'4" with an open face, blue eyes, and quite the hoary head of righteousness.

  

On this day in 1951, as Grandma was giving birth to her only son (and Mozambique was becoming an overseas province of Portugal), I wonder if she had any inkling that his birth would make possible the births of my two brothers, who carry on the family name...and the births of my two sisters and me, who carry on the family grammar (don't even THINK about saying "irregardless" in front of one of my sisters!).

  

My dad is a lawyer, and I have never wondered why. He can defend ANYTHING (I almost said he can defend anything to death, but that just sounds morbid). He can defend the Westminster Confession and its specific phrasing. He can defend J. Gresham Machen's position on independent missions boards. He can defend his choice of bike, golf club, and furniture refinisher. He can defend well because he has thought things out well. I love disagreeing with him but hate debating him because I get tired before we're done. I like things for their intangible likeability; he likes them for their performance rating/history/impact on the future.

  

Which does have its merits. When Dad liked my boyfriend, I knew it was OK to marry him. Dad recognized the strength, dependability, humor, and godliness of Ethan; I just knew he was extremely likeable.

  

But my dad has other merits. He's a good woodworker. He makes a fine church elder. He loves to enjoy my mom. He enjoys my children. He has a contagious laugh. He can clap on one hand.

  

I'm glad that he sticks out in a crowd. It's kind of like having one of those antennae toppers to help you locate your car: he's easy to find, and there's a reassurance once he's spotted. Oh, good. Dad's here.

  

And Dad, when the only other event for June 11, 1951, on Google is "Mozambique becomes an overseas province of Portugal," you pretty much top the list.

 

Happy birthday!