Where I’m from, we call our fathers “Daddy.”

It’s not unusual to see 60-year-old cowboys, complete with the hat, the cattle and the big belt buckle, addressing their 80-year-old fathers as “Daddy.” It’s just the way we talk.

My Daddy was what pundits condescendingly refer to as “blue collar” or “working class.” What that means is that he was a highly skilled person who could pull an engine out of a car, take it apart, rebuild it like new, put it back in the car, test drive the car to see if all was right and still be home in time for eight hours sleep before he had to get up for work the next day.

The men I grew up around never worried about being man enough. The very notion of worrying about a thing like that was as foreign to them as worrying about being American or Oklahoman enough. They worked hard as mechanics, truck drivers, machinists, butchers and carpenters. Then they came home and put in gardens and maintained their houses. No one in my neighborhood would have considered calling a plumber, roofer or any other handyman to repair their homes. If the plumbing was broke (things were never “broken”; they were “broke”) they fixed it. If the roof leaked, they would get together with the rest of the boys from thereabouts and put on a new one.

My Daddy thought nothing of  getting together with my uncle and putting up a wall, complete with texture and paint, in one day. They could turn around and take it down the same way. They built their own garages, added rooms to their houses and dug their own tornado shelters.

Not one of the men I knew as a child would consider raising a hand to a woman. A man who would hit a woman was a coward, not a man, a nothing, in their eyes. Any man stupid enough to do a thing like that was very likely to have the other men thereabouts take them out some night and “knock some sense into him.”

It never entered my mind to be afraid of anything when I was little. Whatever bad was out there, I believed my daddy would make sure it never touched me. I can not remember a time when he didn’t seem as big and safe as a fort.

I also can’t remember the first time he lifted me astride a horse. I do remember sitting behind him on his horse as we rode for hours. I was maybe four or so when he got me my first horse, a gentle fellow named Shorty.

Owning a horse meant I had to learn to brush him down before saddling him, then brush him down again after the ride. I had to make sure he had water, hay and grain and that his hooves were free of rocks and other things that might harm him. I was responsible for soft-soaping my saddle and bridle, for cleaning the bits.

I didn’t know how to do all this at four, but I learned how from my daddy who taught me by doing it with me. He also taught me to never let the horse get the best of me by getting angry with the animal, jerking him around or failing to get back up and get on when I was tossed off.

He had a contempt that he imparted to me for the kind of man who would get panicky on a horse and then take it out on the horse by yanking the bits, yelling at the animal or digging his heels into the horse’s sides.

Shorty was a kindly horse with a lot of patience for little girls but not a lot of gas in his tank. As I grew from a tiny girl into a little girl, I became increasingly impatient with his lack of go. One day when I was about seven I decided I wanted to see if I could get a rise out of him.

I saddled up and climbed on Shorty, armed with a water pistol. I rode him for a while, then stood in the stirrups, leaned forward, and squirted. Sweet, gentle Shorty broke in half. I managed to ride it out, but I certainly did get a rise out of him. It was more than I bargained for, but it was fun. I finally got Shorty quieted and looked around to see my daddy standing across the lot, staring at me.

The word we use today is “busted.” I had been caught red-handed, abusing my horse. I had no idea what Daddy was going to do, but I expected something massive. What he did instead was much more effective.

“Becky Ann, you know better than that.” he said. That was all. He didn’t yell or threaten. He didn’t even ground me from riding; just, “you know better than that.” But it was enough. I have never abused an animal again.

Years before that, when I was a pre-schooler, I stole a pack of chewing gum from a store and got caught. Daddy didn’t yell at me. He took me back to the store and made me hand the gum to the clerk and say “I stole this.” That was a long time ago, but I can still feel the humiliation of that moment. Then, to add insult to injury, he bought the gum and gave it to me.

Another lesson learned. The temptation to steal left me that day and has never returned.

Daddy was teaching more than how to ride and care for a horse, more even than not to steal. He was teaching me a whole set of values. He was also, though neither of us was aware of it, teaching me about men. There wasn’t a plan in this. I feel confident that my daddy never read a single book on how to raise kids. He didn’t make dates to “have a talk” with me or attempt to manipulate me. He just talked to me as part of our daily interactions. Like I was a person. He spent time with me. That’s how he caught me with the stolen gum, how he saw me shoot water into Shorty’s ear; he was there.

Woody Allen has said that 90% of life is showing up. I think that more than 90% of being a father is being there. You don’t have to ride horses with your kids or break down engines to be a good dad, but you do need to be there. Share the one thing that is completely yours with your children: Share yourself. Teach them about men by being a safe and reliable man in their lives. Give them the gift of security by always being the dad on the beat, ready to protect and rescue them when they need it.

My father had a lot of faults. But he was there and he loved me without question. He used to embarrass me, bragging on me to people, but I realize now that having your very own Daddy think you are the greatest thing since sliced bread is loft to your wings for your whole life. Children, boys or girls, it doesn’t matter, need their Daddys. They need them home, with their Mamas, taking care of things.

My Daddy was there. And he loved me unconditionally. I’ve never read a child-rearing advice book that just plainly said that this is what children need, but it IS what children need. Nothing else will substitute.

Writtten by Rebecca Hamilton Patheos.com

 If you’ve not yet seen this brief video, it’s worth watching. It captures the moment when Democrat conventioneers allegedly voted to amend their platform. (Video 1.31 mins)

When the first voice vote is taken, it’s too close to call. Same with the second voice vote.

In the third voice vote, the “nays” — those opposing the Strickland amendment — seem to have a slight edge.  But clearly, 2/3’s of the delegates did not vote for the amendment. 

The delegates know that, too. And the losers, who were really the winners, jeer.

The vote was to reinsert references to God & Jerusalem (full story HERE)

Watch the Senator avoid a question with an unprecedented Acadamy Award performance. An unparalled performance….

Sen. Dick Durbin (D-IL) Torn Apart On “God” Being Deleted From Platform

Last night I watched the entirety of the Democrats’ Convention in Charlotte, North Carolina so you didn’t have to, because we’re friends like that, and I’m apparently a glutton for punishment.  I’ve always wondered how straight guys really feel when they complain about having to sit through something interminable like the Academy Awards where they wonder how much longer this thing on the screen can drag on…and I think I understand a little of that this morning.  The Republican Convention at times felt like an Oscars’ telecast too, when various lists of names were read aloud and the audience in their seats politely applauded, but the Democrats’ telecast last night was just dull with what seemed like endless screaming and yelling into the microphone. Honestly, if you’d had asked me two days ago if I would have dreamed that something with almost nonstop screaming and yelling could be DULL, I’d have laughed at you, but somehow Democrats pulled that off.  I actually have a pounding headache today from the at times endless parade of Democrats who ranted and raved in rambling diatribes. Here and there, that angry wall of sound was punctuated by ten moments of genuine craziness you probably should know about for any chats by the water cooler today.

10. Governor Ted Strickland of Ohio embarrassed my home state by actually saying, and I quote:  ”If Mitt Romney were Santa Claus he’d have fired the reindeer and outsourced the elves!”.  This was just embarrassing.  Since he left office in 2010, Strickland has lost all ability to speak to people on camera. He yelled into the microphone and told really bad “jokes” at Mitt Romney’s expense, like that Santa thing.  ”If Mitt Romney were a soda can, he’d be the one where the tab broke off and you’d have to get a fork or something to pry it open and it would explode in your face because Mitt Romney hates you”.  There was a lot of rambling Occupy Wall Street garbage here, with Strickland saying Romney was too wealthy but Barack Obama could relate to regular people.  Oh, really?  Surprisingly enough Strickland didn’t tell everyone about the $35 million beachfront mansion that wealthy Chicago bankers are currently purchasing for the Obamas to live in after they leave Washington in January.  The only thing funny about Strickland’s speech is how stupid these attacks on wealth are when the people who have lived-it-up the most on other people’s dime are THE OBAMAS.

….read 2-10 HERE