When I was in grade school my family owned a pop up camper. It was called a Puma.  It slept six people, just barely.  Some of my favorite memories of my childhood involve  camping with my family.  We’d pack up on Friday after every one was home from work

and school and we would head out to a lake or campground for a weekend of family time. I remember Mom packing up the groceries and clothes for our weekend camp outs.   One of the places that was particularly lovely was Lake at Pomme de Terre in Missouri.  On a particularly cool morning I was up early and Dad came out of the Puma to check on my whereabouts.  I was standing at the edge of the lake and picking up rocks and throwing them into the water.  Dad asked me if I knew how to make a rock skip across the lake.  I had never heard of skipping rocks and I was rather intrigued by the idea.

In order to make a rock skip across the water you needed to find a smooth and flat rock to skim across the top of the water.  The object was always to see how many jumps you could make across the top of the water.  I was not the most coordinated child.  (My family called me, “Grace”, and it had nothing to do with our theological roots.)  I have just the shadow of a memory of my Dad standing over me and showing me how to lean off to the side to skim the rock across the water.  He could make a rock skip four or five times.  I do not remember how long we stood at the edge of the lake practicing my form.  I do remember that by the end of our session I had skipped a rock twice across the water.  He told me that I had a good eye for rock skipping.  I felt ten feet tall with his encouragement.

Skipping rocks create circles of impact that ripple out from the point of impact.  Dad’s passing has created ripples which we are just starting to understand.  There are the details of Social Security, pensions, IRAs, and all of the legal stuff.  The legal stuff feels like the easy stuff compared to the realization that on his birthday he will not be here to harass.  On August 23rd he would have been 79.  It hurts to say, “he would have been”.  He should be here.

Today I’m so grateful for a Dad who went the extra mile and took us camping on weekends.  I would have been easier to stay home but Mom and Dad wanted to raise us with new experiences and a sense of well being.  I don’t think they ever thought about raising well rounded children or creating memories for us.  I think they just wanted us to see the world and to have a good time together.   Sometime soon I’ll tell the story of how he became called, “Woowoo” by his grandchildren.