To the Clockmaker: My Father

Who is the Clockmaker?

After all, this blog IS called "The Clockmaker's Daughter," right? 

Well, my father is unlike anyone else you will ever meet in your entire life. He is probably the only person who could cover beekeeping tips, homesteading secrets, and the history of Communism in a single conversation. A scan of one of our many bookshelves will testify to his ever-evolving fascinations, and objects of study. One time it was edible mushrooms, the next it was raising a rare breed of ducks, and after that: making Cajun food. My dad has a million things that spark his interest, and as kids, he tried to get us interested too. 

"We're going cherry picking today," he announced one day, whilst we were half-asleep still, and he had flicked on the lights. Admittedly, as a teenager, cherry picking just wasn't my most desired activity, but looking back, I love my dad for these moments. Why? Because what else would I have been doing? The normal teenage stuff, like going to the mall, or watching TV. My dad intentionally worked to get all of his five children interested in things beyond what involved staring at a screen. The cherries we brought home were made into pies, and though we may have gone a little overboard and "gifted" a bunch of them to a friend because we were sick of pitting them, it was nonetheless, a fun afternoon. 

My dad raised my siblings and I on "alternative" music for your average 90s kid. In fact, we weren't really allowed to listen to the radio, though we snuck it in where we could. Instead it was the deep vocals of Johnny Cash, the trippy harmonies of Electric Light Orchestra, or even, at times, vivacious operas. The man is a hipster, however, and is always finding new music. He currently likes "The Lumineers," "The Oh Hello's", and "Of Monsters and Men".  

As for movies, (we never have had cable in our home), we watched old Westerns, war movies (not a fan because WHERE WERE THE GIRLS IN THE STORY?!) and classics, like "Fiddler on the Roof", "I Confess," and "My Fair Lady." I've seen more John Wayne movies, than Johnny Depp ones and my first real movie crush was Colin Firth's, Mr. Darcy, in Pride and Prejudice. (Don't even try that whole: "You should watch the Kiera Knightly version..." stuff. Nope. Don't even go there!) 

"Why doesn't  he just let us watch what other kids were watching?" This question, my teenage self asked often. In point of fact, my Dad was being the best dad he could be by not serving us the mediocrity of the age, and by trying to keep us from encountering the vulgarity that had crept into modern music, films, and art, while we were young. Through it all, my Dad has focused on forming his children to be counter-cultural, to swim against an ever-racing tide that claims that ugliness is beauty, and that crassness is funny or cool; that acting impolitely, eating, dressing, or speaking slovenly is better because it's convenient. He has always tried to give us the best that life had to offer, even moving out to the country and commuting 45 minutes to work every day so that we could grow up in a beautiful place. 

More importantly, however, is that my Dad has always been there, no matter the situation, whether it's something as simple as needing encouragement with starting up my Etsy shop, or talking about boy stuff, or something more serious, like the late night phone call when one of us kids had a car accident. There is never a doubt in my mind of whether or not he'll be there for me, he always has been and will be. 

Lastly, my father gave me another precious part of my life: the Catholic faith. It takes a lot of strength to keep a family together, happy, and healthy and my father has done it primarily, I believe, through his faith. He has come home from many a long, exhausting day at work, and has knelt with our family in front of the icon of the Sacred Heart in our living room, and prayed the rosary with us. No matter how weary, no matter how much he probably just wanted to collapse in bed, my dad has lead us in prayer. He brought us to Mass every Sunday, loading five kids into a car, waiting for his three daughters to get dressed, and inevitably being late because of them. This is perhaps the best gift of all. 

My dad is a father of five, and a grandfather of three, He is the familiar smell of pipe tobacco, the beekeeper, the mushroom forager, the provider, the reader, and the Traditionalist. He is my rock, and my "Dead Sea." He is the Clockmaker, and I am eternally grateful to God for making me the Clockmaker's daughter. 

I love you, Dad.

Happy Father's Day!