You were right

Dear Dad,

You were right. Everything you told me about everything when I was growing up? You were right. All those times you said that one day I'd get it, that one day I'd understand what you were talking about? And I just nodded my head, rolled my eyes, and said, "Uh huh" (yeah, sorry about that)? Well, today's the day. I get it. I understand what you're talking about. And you're right.

When you dragged me outside in the middle of a Houston heatwave to teach me how to change a tire and, on top of that, rotate all of my tires, you told me that it would be important to know how to do it in case I got a flat. You were right. And you were right about learning all the other seemingly simple but vital skills you taught me, too.

I can't tell you how many times I've had to change my tire on the side of the road. How many times I've had to jumpstart my car. How many times I've had to use a drill, a saw, or any number of tools to complete a house project. All those times, instead of feeling helpless, I was able to utilize what I learned from you and get the job done.

When you got a huge mound of manure delivered to our driveway every summer, handed me a shovel and a wheelbarrow, and "asked" (read: forced) me to spread it over the garden beds, you told me that I'd come to appreciate how doing something myself would feel better than paying someone else to do it. You were right.

Every time you made me shovel that manure, mow the lawn, lift something heavy, or any number of tasks around the house, I was convinced you only did it because I was free labor. And, maybe, that was part of it (I'm looking forward to the day when my kids will take out the trash for me). Yet, I can appreciate now that what you were doing was instilling in me a sense of pride in the results of my own hard work. I cherish something more when it is the direct result of my blood, sweat, and tears than when it is from someone else's work. 

When you tried to get me to exercise more or eat healthier, you told me that diet and exercise were the keys to a long life. You were right.

When I look at my wife and kids, I know that I want to be there for them for as long as I can. And, not just that, I want to be healthy enough so that I can do everything and anything they ask of me. I don't want to say, "No, I can't do that" when X or G ask me for piggy back rides or when Laya wants me to go snowboarding with her. I look at you, Dad, and you are going strong at 70. You're living proof that a healthy life can lead to many years of being able to live a full life, from biking in cycling events with me to taking care of four grandkids who seemingly have endless stores of energy.

When we were in the car on a roadtrip, and you told me to get my head out of my book because there was so much world to see and that I needed to experience it. You were right. 

The world in which we live in, the people we meet every day, the wonders both manmade and natural, the cultures different from our own--it's all beautiful. And it's all out there for us to experience if only we'd get our faces out of our books and, now, our phones. I can remember when we were on a roadtrip to somewhere. We stopped at some site, and you were trying to get me out of the car to check it out. I was stubborn. I refused to budge. You got so mad, gave up, and got out of the car to see it by yourself. I feel bad not getting out of the car and going with you. I can't even remember what it was that you stopped the car to go and see, but I regret not seeing something new and not having another experience with you. 

Every day, when I think about the things you tried to tell me or when I find myself already telling my kids the same exact things, I wish I had paid attention more, learned more, appreciated more the things you were saying. I wish I had taken to heart what you told me earlier in my life so that I wouldn't have made some of the mistakes that I have made in my life. But, I guess, that's the folly of being young. And I probably wouldn't have come to the realization that you were right without making those mistakes.  

It's taken me 36 years to tell you that you were right. And I know that that's a helluva long time. But it's taken me that long in my life to realize that you, Dad, were right. However, something in me tells me that you knew that I would come to know that you were right. Because, as a dad myself now, I know that someday my kids will come to realize that I was right about things. And I know that I won't mind if it takes decades for them to get there.

I love you, Dad.