Dads come in all ways.
They come in the form of the man who raised us biologically or stepfather.
They come in the form of uncles and grandfathers. Some men in communities are molded like a Michael Angelo masterpiece for kids.
On A Word or More, I’ve discussed writing with a purpose. My entire purpose in writing now is to tell Corrie’s story with those who meant most to her, and sometimes it’s as uncomfortable as the pair of jeans we bend backward on the bed to put on and make fit.
You almost have it.
You get the button.
The zipper doesn’t go.
Memoir and poetic writing are meant to hold up the mirror, which Corrie would love, and reflect the story.
There are moments when it’s absolutely beautiful. The Corrie Effect had something to do with that.
Corrie had a certain flair with people. She often walked with me and met different people. What struck me was how such a small person could carry on inspirational conversations.
She spent a lot of those conversations with her dad, my husband. John has always been a wonderful father to our children through his actions and the time he has spent with them. I wrote last time about the time he spent with NAMI, the National Alliance with Mental Illness.
John drove Corrie a lot of days to her preschool last year, and often spoke with Corrie’s teacher more than I did. Her last school had lunches where they invited parents, and John went to eat with Corrie’s class. He came home and told me about the chick eggs her class had. Corrie added what book they’d read connected with observing the hatch time.
Corrie bragged about how her Daddy came to eat with her lunch. Dad had shown me up, but it was difficult to take off of school to come for a preschool lunch.
Just as she did with me, Corrie would remind John to hug her. She had a way of pulling us in. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him down.
Happy Father’s Day!
By Rebecca T. Dickinson
Corrie's Season 