DADDY’S HANDS

Today is a special day of remembrance for me every year. It is the day my daddy, Robert Hamilton Dicks, was born in Baton Rouge, La., in 1925. Sadly, due to a chronic intestinal disease, my father died at the early age of 44.

I was only 19 when he died, and I was so totally crushed that I did not want to return to college; the next year I moved to the Washington, D.C., area. I still remember my brother Bobby, 16 at the time, asking, “Why did my Daddy have to die when he was a wonderful person?”

Yet, our faith helped us through the darkest time in our lives. And we have kept our father’s memory in our hearts always.

Daddy was very tall, kind, and loving with more patience than anyone I had ever known. He was a strong Christian who quoted Bible verses (John 3:16 and the Ten Commandments were his favorites), always led the prayers at mealtime and made sure we went to church on Sunday even if we were on vacation. Daddy lost both of his parents the year he turned 21 and let us know that the people of his church helped him get through his own dark days.

One thing that I can still see, almost 39 years after his death, are his hands. They were large and loaded with freckles similar to mine. They were extremely versatile hands that could do many types of things from cleaning fish with precision to cooking meals to palming a basketball before he took a great shot to cutting down trees so that our yard was always the most beautiful on our street. Professionally, my father even used his hands as an electrical engineer – using drawing pencils to design electronics (all before computers). And he was an expert marksman who also loved to shoot pool – a game that he proudly taught me to play.

Daddy was incapable of telling a story without using his hands. They were particularly expressive when he would explain where he had been fishing after a day on the Savannah River in his boat. Yet he certainly would never tell anyone exactly where he had caught his ‘mess’ of trout or bass that were enough for his family and neighbors.

But mostly, it was like the country song “Daddy’s Hands” says: “There are things that I’ve forgotten, that I loved about the man, But I’ll always remember the love in Daddy’s hands.”

Each day I miss Daddy when I think of what he has missed with my life. He would love Rodney, my New Zealand-born husband who loves sports; our oldest son Stuart who is even taller than my Daddy but loves playing basketball and golf plus the University of South Carolina Gamecocks; and our son Zachary who loves movies, writing, fireworks and music – all special joys of my Dad’s.

He knew that I wanted to work with kids as a teacher, have a family and be a strong Christian. He would be pleased with how things have turned out for me.

So today I will thank God for the earthly father He gave me, who provided me with a firm foundation of faith and love and showed me a life well lived.

— Pamela Dicks Rawlinson

Courtesy of The Church of the Good Shepherd United Methodist