And the Sky Never Ends

Allow me to introduce to you about the most wonderful little girl that I have ever met. Her  name is Martha Lee Anne Ryals and I was first introduced to her on February 14, 1988, which was the day she entered this world. She arrived on a Sunday morning around 8:30 a.m. I was the proudest father of a most beautiful little girl. From the very beginning she was a very quiet and shy little girl. 

As she has grown older she has overcome some of her shyness, at least around family members, to the point that she can talk almost constantly about anything. But still, around people she does not know very well she withdraws into that quiet shell that I recognize so well as being my own way. Also, as a small child she was quite content to spend a considerable amount of time alone, maybe shared with a pet. She has, and hopefully will always be, independent in her ability to be content and satisfied with herself not caring what other people are doing or where they are going. Confident that she go her own way not following the crowd and could care less what they think as she heads off in her own direction. This can serve her well in today’s environment of peer pressure to follow the crowd.

Now that she has become a young lady I see more and more of her precious traits. She loves a animals in a special way. I think that she recognizes that unlike human companions, friends from the animal kingdom love unconditionally and will never betray the friendship that is passed along. She is truly a soft and gentle person with never a harsh word to anyone and a willingness to give of herself to any person who desires a friend. There is no pretense, so overblown ego, only the desire to be a true friend. In that she never allows the harshness of the world to influence her in changing this part of her beauty. 

In closing I will allow that I am somewhat biased in my opinions of Martha, but I believe that anyone who allows her in their heart the way I have cannot help but see all the good things that she represents. You cannot be around her and not lover her simply for the way that she is.

 

 

My dad wrote that for me when I was 12 or 13. I found it last night going through some old letters and journals. My eyes watered up reading it, because he knows me, always has, always will. 

Reading it, I hope you don’t think about me, in fact, I hope you can forget me altogether; instead, I want you to see the person who wrote it. Because the person who wrote it knows me, and I think he knows me so very well because we have the same kind of heart. Quiet and still.  

 

 

There are many important people in your life, but even so, so many of those people can’t fully know you, because they can’t understand. To know you requires you to tell them. You have to narrate your life to them so they can attempt to understand it, and even when spoken out loud, some of it gets lost along the way, and it can get tiring. 

But then, there are people who- without words- know your thoughts, nature, heart. You can find rest with them, and just be. My dad is this kind of person to me. I don’t need words to tell him, because he sees me. When I don't notice, when I don't want him to, he sees me. He has always seen me, for who and how I am. And he loves me. 

“I love you bigger than the sky,” daddy would say, “and how big is the sky?”

“This big,” I would say stretching my skinny arms to the point of risking a shoulder dislocation. 

“I love you bigger than the sky,” daddy says. “How big is the sky?” He smiles, his mustache turning up with his lips.

“It never ends,” I say.

 

 

I don’t know when the tradition started. I don’t know how old I was when he first said it, and I first answered. It’s always been there, like the beauty mark on my cheek or like that quiet and shy nature of mine, or his hand in mine on Sunday mornings.  

He loves my quirks, and fears, and joys, and wants, and thoughts. He loves my flaws, mistakes, and short comings. But in the end, what he really loves, what all of that means, is that he loves me.  

He is my dad, and I am his daughter and I don’t think there’s anything I could do or say that would change his love or thoughts of me, even when nicknamed "the litte terrorist."

I could tell you about flying airplanes, waking the railroad track, swerving all over the road in the car, our mutual love of ice cream, the stories, growing tomatoes and roses in the back yard, Wyoming, and how we can both raise an eyebrow, but those are just filler.

 

 

 

 

 What it comes down to is my dad taught me that it’s okay to be human, it’s okay to mess up, it’s okay to be scared and unsure,  it’s okay to not be okay, it's okay to be silly and weird and to keep trying.

It's okay to be martha lee anne.

Some people would call that acceptance, but I’d like to think that my dad taught me about unconditional love, and not a counterfeit version where there are boundaries or lines I can’t cross or things I’m not allowed to say or a person I shouldn’t/can’t be…it’s the pure, unadulterated thing.  

And that’s why our tradition means everything to me. 

So, happy father’s day daddy,

 I love you bigger than the sky, and the sky never ends