Easily Excitable

The summer before freshman year of college, I was sitting at the island in the kitchen, talking to Daddy: I was talking about my declared major. I told Daddy I would major in nursing. His response?

“Okay. Well, why not be a doctor?”

What in the world?

My hesitant reply back: “…Daddy…I can’t do math.”

Him: “Yes, you can. You just haven’t ever really applied yourself. You do that, and you’ll be fine.”

This, coming from the man who checked my middle and high school math homework every night and, as a result, had to get me up earlier than my siblings to do my corrections? Bold. Bordering on stupid, but bold nonetheless. 

(It should be said her, that I beat both of our expectations and became neither a nurse or a doctor, instead opting for a career as an English teacher who stays safely tucked away from the math hall)

That conversation with Daddy reveals what he believed about me:

His belief about me has always been that I am capable, so long as I’m willing to work hard.

That doesn’t sound all that relevatory, I know, but being preached and shown that every day of my life sowed self-confidence in me that wouldn’t have been possible otherwise.

Sounds funny to say, but how blessed am I to have a father who never assumed my shortcomings were because of my lack of ability but my lack of effort? 

A father who believes in his daughter and makes her work to then earn that belief in herself will change the trajectory of her life.

There’s a funny saying in videos circulating online: 

“Nobody has more faith in a girl than her dad without anyone else around to help.” Usually, the video will show a woman accomplishing some feat while her father is assisting and giving directions. 

As one whose held flashlights for her father on more than a few occasions and eventually graduated to more trying tasks? I get it. I’ve been there. 

When Walker moved out of town, and I moved back home, I somehow became my father’s right hand man. Personally? I was thrilled about this promotion.

Up until Trey and I got married, this was the case. 

If something needed two people to lift, I would help. When it came to hammering down tomato posts, we did it together. 

Daddy taught me how to mow grass and weed eat ditches (it near about killed my back during Covid). He let me help him hook up sprayers to tractors and even pull out the aforementioned tractors when they got stuck in the mud.

He taught me how to hunt and clean birds, as well as catch, clean, and fry fish. 

Once, he even hooked up not one but TWO peach trailers to the back of the truck and had me haul them. 

I had a learners license at the time: it made me a nervous wreck. 

For Mother’s Day, I wrote a post about my momma and how she mothered us.

I’m partial, but I think she was and still is an incredible Momma.

Momma built our self-esteem by making each of us feel like we were prodigy artists, builders, swimmers, skaters, and bikers. 

We begged her to watch us ‘perform,’ and she did without fail.

She continued this when I got older. On my first day of teaching (I was so nervous I threw up the night before), she wrote me a letter in which she expressed her belief that I would be a great teacher.

I’d done no student teaching. I didn’t even have an education degree. There was no reason she should have believed in me. And yet she did, and because she believed I could be great, I worked as hard as possible to be the best I could.

Daddy built my self-confidence in different ways: he made me do difficult things, which in turn built belief in myself.

Daddy’s life work, to some degree, has been shaping his kids to believe nothing is unattainable. 

I have to think that, in part, God assigned me to Joe Meadows, Jr. because, as a child, I was a chicken. I was scared of everything.

Case in point:

When I was young enough to be carried, Daddy would pick me up, and if I got unsure of things, I would rub my hand on the back of Daddy’s neck.

He was always faithful to pick me up and carry me, but as far as forming bravery in a daughter, this wasn’t a sustainable plan for obvious reasons.

I have to think Daddy, somewhere in his mind, knew he had to make me brave somehow- that, rather than relying on him at all times, I would need to be brave myself. This bravery and, in turn, self-confidence, stemmed from his teaching me skills, largely around the farm.

He first taught me, then entrusted me to do things myself, then gave the ultimate Joe Meadows compliments: “It sure does look a lot better where you…” or “It sure did help me out that you…”

I have not ever done those things perfectly. 

I have lost more of his tools than either of us can count. I have planted lines in the garden that are crooked as a snake. Just this last week, I didn’t check the oil in the lawnmower cold. 

My most common error has been doing any given task too quickly, then having to redo it. Anddd, as a result, get the speech that “it takes more time to do something wrong and do it again than it does to do the task the right way the first time.”

But Daddy would be the first to tell you that’s part of the learning process- after, of course, giving me advice on how to do it right the next time. 

It’s a privilege to learn from a great teacher. 

From my Momma, I got the self-confidence to be myself. 

From Daddy, I got the belief that I am capable. Not only did he believe it first, but he’s always been willing to teach me the skills to back it up. 

In that, he’s taught, too, that capability isn’t the most important part: it’s work ethic that’s the end-all, be-all.

That self-assuredness is not my own and my ability to figure things out isn’t from me: it was instilled by my Daddy. 

It’s not arrogance, but it is a fool-hardiness that says, “Yeah, I could figure that out.” The wisdom of recognizing my own limitations is still working to catch up. 

Imagine how many broken tools it’s taken to get here!

My Daddy is a uniquely good man. 

He is generous to a fault (even though he and I are both a little ‘cheap’). 

He adores children, specifically babies, more than any man I’ve ever seen.

He does the right thing, especially when it’s hard.

He moves slowly on some things in order to act wisely (and this has been known to drive some of us crazy in the past).  

He’s honest and stands by his word.

He may well be one of the only sixty year old coaches you’ll see at the rec department because, lo and behold, he’s now got the next generation to coach: Zayden gets tough love, just like the rest of us.

Above all else, Daddy mirrors the Father’s love for us: I didn’t grow up distrusting my Father in Heaven because I first thrived in the love my earthly father lavished on me.

So, all that being said, Happy Father’s Day, Daddy. 

Thank you for loving me for who I was, as well as believing in me and the woman I would become. 

Self-doubt isn’t a part of my vocabulary because you taught me otherwise. As a result, I’m probably a little more stubborn than is desirable, but you don’t have to look too far into the family tree to see where it comes from.

Being a Meadows parent hasn’t been easy, but if you and Momma strove to raise kids who adore you both? You succeeded in spades.  

Love you, Daddy!