Dad Had Friends

Dad had friends. Names like Bucky, Zeppy, Finky, Skippy, Tubby, Pinky, Deeder, Windy and Itchy Sam would surface now and again while he recalled stories to match each one. If one could judge a book by its cover, pretty sure each would have a few good chapters within.

Dad’s no longer physically here, but the names surface now and again among family. It’s a scramble to remember who was who, but what I do remember was how Dad spoke about each one. With a grin upon his face, he’d tell what may have happened at work, on the battlefield, or about someone who lived under a bridge near to where he grew up.

He enjoyed people immensely, but even more so, Dad liked it when others enjoyed spending time with him. I suppose meaningful relationships are like that. They connect on a two-way street or simply through compassion for the other’s state in life. He displayed it by how interested he was in others.

Several of his stories are in my memory banks. One of those named above was a bit poverty stricken. Thus, he was known for entering the local café and requesting a glass of warm water. Once the waitress brought it, he’d begin adding catsup to it in order to make tomato soup of sorts to stave off his hunger. With pensive dignity reflected in Dad’s eyes, he remembered others who had to do such things in order to survive.

Another time, he talked about one of his friends who lived under a bridge in a little shack. Every so oft, Dad would invite him home for supper where Grandma would serve him supper along with her own crew of kiddos. Dad knew the sacrifice Grandma made in order to feed one more.

One was from Germany and had been hired on Dad’s painting crew for the summer. Mom and Dad had him over for an evening of visiting in order that he might feel more at home in our country. Dad’s sense of humor made the young visitor feel right at home.

I suppose nicknames come a plenty and Dad was no different. His real name was Denton, so they called him Denny at times. However, as his hair was of a copper tone, Red sort of stuck.

This all started me to thinking about the nicknames our Father gives us. After all, it says in Isaiah 43:1, “I have called you by name. You are mine.”

Name-calling isn’t so great but calling one by name is.  As I glanced over his Word, there were plenty of names we are called by him: Child of God, Beloved, Friend and Chosen; New Creations, Redeemed, Forgiven and Heirs. He says we are his and we are Part of the True Vine. We are called his sons and daughters.

I am thankful to not only be called, but to be called by name. Isaiah 43:1 confirms this. “I have called you by name; you are mine.” Amen.

Kathleen Kjolhaug, Theology in the Trenches

Photo by Paweł L. on Pexels.