“I’ve been robbed.”

It took me a minute to realize the mess in my house was different than the normal clutter I’d seen every day. My mind began racing: “Call the police.” “Are they still in here?” “What should I use as a weapon – a 7-iron or a hedge clippers?”

I checked each room of the house (twice) and began to take stock of the damage and the missing items. The thieves must have had a pattern down because they scooped up my exposed electronics and then went through my bedroom closet. There, they found an old locked leather briefcase. They were resourceful and used my cordless drill to bore through the locks. Instead of finding guns or drugs, they found old paperwork and pay stubs. Useless… to them.

I remember seeing the briefcase on my living room couch that afternoon and all I could think of was a piece of paper tucked away in one of the pockets. I hadn’t seen it in years but I knew where it always was. I’d seen enough television to know I shouldn’t touch the crime scene so I waited until the police report was filed to check and find – to my relief – that it was still there.

I was worried about a news clipping from a newspaper in Round Rock, TX. A letter to the editor that I’d kept for years. But I’ll get to that later…

A few weeks ago I had a lazy Sunday and decided to spend it watching documentaries. I watched a short piece on a hillbilly family in West Virginia. I watched a sad film about a Russian pop star-turned-prostitute. I watched a sobering tale of Texas death row prisoners. I didn’t realize until later that evening that those stories had a common thread: Fatherlessness. In each story the father figures were gone either in prison themselves, or distant and too consumed with their own interests to care about their children.

I couldn’t understand how men could act this way. I couldn’t relate to those stories because I had seen fatherhood done right. I was like a Kardashian kid but instead of being rich I was spoiled with great parents. Here’s a bit of what I’ve learned from watching them…

By the time I came along my dad had had a lot of practice. As the baby of the family I missed out on the earlier family trips to Disneyland and I may have suffered some slight torture at the hands of my older sisters but I never doubted for a second how special I was in my parents’ eyes. As I grow older I look back on my life and am moved by how much they sacrificed for their kids.

My father gave me two of the greatest things a parent can give to their child: time and his respect.

Looking back I’m sure he had better things to do than spend a school night sleeping on a recliner as the family had a “living room campout”. Or bringing his son to the office so I could see daddy putting in extra hours to get a job done. Or driving around a strange town to several different fast food spots until every kid in the car had the dinner they requested. He was never too busy to make a moment. As a child I  was appreciative, but now as man I am amazed.

And he gave me his respect. He made me feel like an individual who was free to make choices and who’s choices had consequences. I wanted to make the right choices – the choices that would make him proud – and I very rarely remember feeling like Luke Skywalker fighting Darth Dad and the Empire. His respect made me a teammate, an apprentice, a disciple.

He was honest with me and didn’t paint the world to be a place full of happy endings. He showed me through his actions that life is made up of moments not trophies.

That brings me to the newspaper clipping…

…it’s a simple story. My dad was working late at the post office and helped a customer. The reason I love that so much is because it’s nothing special. It’s Dad. God’s scrapbook for my dad is overflowing with thousands of stories just like this one. It is how he lives his life – it’s not a accomplishment, it’s an instinct. It’s a light inside him that shines on others. When God looks at my dad I believe He recognizes traces of His own Son reflected back.

It’s legendary, really.

I think about that clipping and how I’m glad I still have it, but I realized that even though it’s a treasure to me – I kept it tucked in the pocket of an old briefcase on a shelf in my closet. Too often I do that with my feelings for people like my father. Sometimes we’ve got to pull them out and post them up for everyone to see.

Dad, I thank you for being a living metaphor for how God loves His children. I want to be like you, but you set the bar pretty high. You are truly the greatest man I’ve ever met.