I've been looking forward to writing this gratitude since I started this project. Today, I'm grateful for my Dad- Ronnie Mitchell, whose 65th birthday we celebrate today.
My dad was born in 1952, into a family rooted in the sandy soils of Sampson County, North Carolina. We used to visit the old farmhouse there when I was very young. No one lived there anymore, but I recall the old tobacco barn, tall and narrow, the scrubby pines in the yard and the hand-pump in the kitchen. He was the youngest of five children.
At some point the family moved to Fayetteville. There are two "hills" in Fayetteville- Haymont Hill and Massey Hill. They are more distinct socially than topographically. Lots of people grow up on Haymont Hill, attend college, begin careers and enjoy success. It's a hill of privilege, one people are proud to live upon. Lots of people from Massey Hill go to prison. To say that you grew up on that hill is to imply that you survived something, rather than had something bestowed upon you. But like many "old neighborhoods" of the American tradition, my dad has a kind of pride of place in Massey Hill. He sailed away on scholarship to Wake Forest University after graduation, but he's not ashamed of the place that launched his journey into higher education. That hill shaped his ideals, and, even though I went to school on the other hill, it managed to affect mine, as well.
My dad is smart. He's got a huge head, with very little hair on top, and perhaps the reason is because grass doesn't grow on a busy street. Throughout my childhood, my dad would spout off random facts as we drove in the car or sat at the dinner table. He'd recite all the states and capitals, for instance. Or give a full account of all of the Presidents of the United States. Or tell you all the names of the starting line-up of some sports team and why you should or should not respect a particular coach or player. His mind is like a trap for seemingly random information, but in his work as a lawyer, that trap has served him well.
Like most people who build big lives from humble beginnings, he's also absurdly hard-working.
My whole life, I've seen my dad working. Writing briefs, dictating, taking phone calls at all hours. But I've only seen him in court once. And that time was at the highest court- the Supreme Court of the United States. He performed an oral argument there while I was in college. It was a moment that opened my eyes to my dad's professional acumen. If my father were a physician, it would have been like watching him perform a life-saving surgery. Or if he were a soldier, it would have been like watching him execute a mission without jeopardizing the lives of the men on his team.
An oral argument in front of the Supreme Court of the United States is nothing like an episode of Law & Order. The Justices sat high above the court, some of them imperious, some of them seemingly indifferent. I got the sense that the mission of the hour was to engage the Justices in earnest discourse, and yet I soon realized the difficulty in doing so. The Justices aren't there to be nice or polite. They are there to make decisions that become laws. They reminded me of cats, sprawled and comfortable, but ready to pounce at any moment. Their questions pawed at the attorneys in front of them, testing their skill and intelligence. Every time my dad would begin a statement with "Respectfully, Justice..." I'd hold my breath, wondering if the cats would show their claws, or, worse yet, completely lose interest. I had no idea what he was talking about, but, as the argument proceeded, it was clear that the Justices became increasingly interested in my dad and bored and disappointed with his opponent. It took some weeks before the ruling was made, and, in the end, my dad's side lost the case. But on that day in Washington, he won the respect of the highest court in the land.
I've heard integrity defined as "doing the right thing when no one else is looking." Surely in life, there are many times that we fail to do the right thing. The right thing is often exhausting and sometimes costs us dearly. But, my dad is a man of integrity. I completely trust him to do the right thing, even if that thing takes time and trouble to sort out. Eventually, he will do what is right, no matter who is looking. I count on that like I count on the sun shining this morning.
My dad is also very grateful. Suppose it's Saturday afternoon and my family has informally gathered around the kitchen table to eat a sandwich or some leftovers while watching a football game. The game is on, and everyone is at varying stages of consumption- some still spreading mayo on bread, some pressing the last crumbles of potato chips onto their tips of their fingers. My dad will, without fail, come in and ask- "Have you all prayed yet?" I've wondered why. Why is the ritual so important that in such an impromptu setting we couldn't just skip it and watch third down? But I've realized that it doesn't have anything to do with ritual. He's truly so grateful to God for that moment- his family, the sandwiches, the football game... that he can't take a bite until he's said "thank you" to the Giver.
I could write a lot more things about my dad for which I'm grateful. .But I'll end with this. It is the joy of my heart to see my dad with my children. He likes to see them a couple of times a week (though he'd be happier to see them every day) Sometimes he will come by our house when he's been working nearby. It thrills Story for him to show up like this. And when she sees him at the door or hears his car in the driveway, she calls out, "Granddaddy here!" When he doesn't get to see them in person, he FaceTimes, even though they're just 25 miles down the road. He did so last night, and I held the phone up so that he could see Grey, who was blowing bubbles as he rocked in his swing. My dad's expression was like a man looking upon a long-lost treasure. Because that's exactly what my children are to him- they are a treasure. One of immeasurably great value that was waited for and is now here, to be cherished and enjoyed. I'm so grateful for this because it helps me understand the heart of God. Little Grey is cherished, not because of what he has learned or accomplished, but simply because he is here. And Story is the delight of his life, because she is here, and also because she is of an age where she can be enjoyed. It's hard to fathom that God could feel the same way about me. That He loves me because I am here, because I am His. But He also wants to enjoy me. As I learn more about Him and obey Him, our relationship grows, just like Granddaddy and Story.
As I've gotten older, I've seen a lot of bad examples of fatherhood and experienced how much pain an unjust, unloving father can create and allow. And as I'm learning to parent myself, I see how hard it is, and how costly. So today, I am so grateful for my dad. Happy birthday, Dad!!! I love you!
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