The voice of my father...

Yesterday I did something I don't think I've ever done.

I called my dad just to hear his voice.  I didn't have anything to talk about, I just wanted to hear the sound of his voice.

It was one of those days where I felt surrounded and hounded by the pressures of the present.  It was like I couldn't see anything beyond what was right in front of my face...I couldn't hear anything but noise in my head picking up reverb with every minute that passed.  I just felt a need to connect with my father.  His voice instead of my noise.  His familiar and familial sound instead of the ground and pound in the octagon of my office.  So I called.

The minute I heard him answer the phone, I knew why my heart needed to hear him speak.  I didn't need to hear him saying anything in particular, I just needed to listen to him talk.  I needed to be reminded of my beginnings.  I needed to connect with the place and person I came from, the foundations of my identity, the DNA I often forget that flows in my veins and in my brain.  I talked a bit, but mostly I listened.  I let him talk about anything he wanted to share.  I didn't care what it was, it didn't matter--all I needed was his voice.

I got up the nerve to tell him, too.  As we finished our conversation I said: "Dad, I called today just to hear your voice.  I felt like I needed to hear it for some reason."  I could tell he was taken aback a little, but he responded with affirmation and how good it is for him to hear my voice as well.  I wish I could have seen his face, but he lives 9 hours away, so his voice is all I can access.  But it's enough.

As we said our goodbyes he said, "I love you very much, Jay."

I think that's what I need to hear...someone that knows to call me "Jay".  The boy connected with the dad.  The son connected to the father.  This voice that echoes through my life today.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

How Great is Our God--Christmas rewrite

Tithing Story...God Story.

Dad, can I sit on your lap?