My Father, the Hero

Love at first sight!

     You, reader, have never (ev-er) met someone who loves home videos more than me.  Never.  Ask my mom, dad, brother, husband, anyone-they will tell you no one could gleefully sit through hours upon hours of home video footage without tiring of it like I can (and do).  Blame it on my childhood aspirations of fame.  One of my favorite scenes is from my very first starring role (see above still shot from the set of Good Samaritan Hospital).  On the day I was born, my daddy began to hug me, kiss me, praise me, and love me.
   

Beach Party

    

     

     

     

I don't believe anyone understands my father better than I do because there there is no one more like my father than I am.  We have a very unique bond because of the quirks and interests we share and the way we both view the world.  Be it through our disdain for grammatical errors or our mutual love of classic cinema, Bogie, jazz standards, old country, vintage signs, vacation planning, history, and seafood, we have a special connection.  I have learned more from my bond with this man than I could ever put down on paper.  

This is an attempt to summarize what Mr. McClure has taught his daughter-both in and out of the classroom.

      My dad was diligent about parenting.  He didn't just parent by accident.  He wanted to raise a daughter who was loved, self-assured, and successful.  He gave me affection and words of encouragement, but he also gave me his time.  Some of my best memories are from our Daddy-Daughter Dates.  During spring break weeks, when Mom would be working during tax season, Dad would take me on special adventures: fishing trips at the old Fishing Club, picnics on the big rocks, kite-flying...you name it.  On those wonderful days,I would dress myself-we're talking foam visor and Mcdonald's sunglasses-, pack the wicker picnic basket, grab my Snoopy fishing pole and mermaid tackle box, and be ready to roll.

Picnic at The Fishing Club--see the wicker picnic basket?

     He also taught me how to play baseball, basketball, and soccer.  He encouraged me to play but never made me feel like a failure when I wasn't the best at something...and I wasn't the best at any of those things.  When I was in the outfield having a sneezing fit so severe I couldn't look up long enough to even see a ball, or when I didn't make the traveling team, or when I wasn't the fastest runner, it didn't matter to him.  He was there to cheer me on when I caught my first pop fly, and he carried me off the field when I caught my first bat in the face.  He encouraged me to do my best, praised my strengths, and forgot the rest.  He even stood behind my decision to become a cheerleader!

This picture says it all, doesn't it?

     The one sport I showed promise at early on was golf.  My dad coached golf for fifteen years, and I was always very proud of that.  He taught me a great deal about the game and about life while we were on the golf course.  Upon arrival at the Bicknell Country Club, he would take his clubs out of the trunk, remove his shoes, and put on his cleats (very Mr. Rogers, in my mind).  I loved the way his clubs clinked together and the sound his cleats would make on the pavement.  In the clubhouse, he would buy me powdered doughnuts and a purple All Sport (before Gatorade was cool) while everyone who saw him yelled, "Hey Coach!"  He also taught me how to drive the golf cart.  I could probably write an entire book on lessons I learned through golf.  Dad taught me to be respectful, when to let others play through, where you can drive the cart, how to hold a club, the importance of being honest and holding yourself accountable, how to properly wash a golf ball, and why we do not throw our clubs even when we really, really want to.  When I think about my father and golf, though, the memory at the forefront of my mind is of the day he came home and told me he was no longer going to be a coach.  He wanted to spend more time with me, and that was more important to him than coaching golf.  I was more important to him.
   
     As a child, one of the things I most appreciated about my dad was his faithfulness in keeping his promises. I vividly remember him telling me once that he would always keep his promises if it were in his power to do so.  To this day, I cannot recollect a single instance when he went against his word.  I am also forever grateful to him for teaching me how to apologize and ask for forgiveness through the example he set.  I don't really know how often the average father admits he is wrong and apologizes.  In my mind, it is an extraordinary thing.  He also taught me more about grace than any preacher in any pulpit.  I saw him dig deeper into his bible than ever before as he began to see God's grace in a new light.  It changed his life and, in turn, mine.  He taught me to see grace not as a reward I needed to earn but as a gift with no return policy.  He taught me not to strive for grace, but because of grace.

I couldn't wait to be his student!

    "How do you feel about having your dad for a teacher?"
If I was asked once, I was asked a hundred times.  People would approach with a smug smile, absolutely sure that I would be horrified at the prospect of being taught by my father.  I was, to the contrary, quite delighted.  I'd long dreamed of the day I could sit in one of those desks and see my father on his very own stage.  If I'd had a father who was decidedly unpopular as a teacher, I would have transferred districts...maybe moved out of state.  Thankfully, that was not a problem, and being my dad's student was amazing.  My senior year, I elected to have him for three class periods a day.  I stopped using my locker because it made more sense to keep my books in his room.  In those classes, Dad obviously taught me a lot about Biblical Literature, Government, Economics, and U.S. History.  On top of that, though, he taught me invaluable lessons that I use constantly in my professional work.
     I remember immediately being struck by the variety of students who liked my dad. Usually teachers have a niche group of students they reach.  I would be hard-pressed to pin down that group for him.  He connects with all kinds, and not because he's trying too hard.  I once asked him how that was possible.  How could he click with so many different personalities effortlessly?  It all boiled down to one word: respect.  Give respect to get respect.  Don't judge based on rumors or preconceptions.  When a student walks into your classroom, you give him respect and a clean slate.  It doesn't matter what he did as a sophomore, because he's here now.  They don't teach that in your education classes, but they should.  It has been some of the best advice I have ever received.
     The best unspoken advice about teaching my dad ever gave me?  Be a great storyteller.  My favorite part of Dad's classes, hands-down, were the stories.  He had tales for all topics, and some of them made me laugh till tears streamed down my cheeks.  He is a master of the background, the build-up, and the punch line.  If I could take his classes again just to sit and hear the stories, I would sign up tomorrow.

     Do I sound like a fan girl yet?  I guess I am.  My father is not a perfect man, but he has used his imperfections to teach me as well.  He continues to show me what it looks like to be a loving parent and a humble sinner saved by grace.  When I was planning my wedding, I asked Dad for recommendations for our father-daughter dance.  He thought of "The Way You Look Tonight" and then suggested we take dance lessons together.  How many fathers learn to foxtrot for their daughters?  That kind of love lavished on me by my earthly father has helped me learn to trust the love of my Heavenly Father.
Here's looking at you, Daddy.

The Way You Look Tonight

Florida 2011