Dad hugs
Sometimes you just need a “dad hug.”
Dad hugs are incredibly powerful things.
They have the power to make the monsters go away when you wake up from a nightmare scared and alone. They make the bumps, bruises and skinned knees of bike crashes and other childhood misadventures not hurt so much.
Dad hugs help with the highs and lows of growing up. Dad hugs are there to help celebrate a winning game or well done performance, helping embed those memories of happy times. Likewise they help you feel better when you lose or have some other setback.
Driving to Camp Birch Trails in Irma last Thursday afternoon had not been part of my somewhat elaborate and color-coded plans for the day. My morning was scheduled full with back to back county committee meetings that were not expected to end until early afternoon. This was to be followed by taking pictures of judging and events at the Taylor County Fair starting that evening and going through the weekend.
When it comes to being a dad, however, there are times to stick to plans and times to toss them out the window.
On Wednesday, my daughter, Beth, got word that a friend had died tragically. She had known the young woman for years. She had worked under her every summer at Girl Scout Camp while in high school.
It is hard to accept the death of young people. Each of us remembers the first time we have had to deal with the death of someone our own age or in our circle of friends and acquaintances.
By their early 20s most people have experienced death in some form. The deaths are typically members of older generations, who have, hopefully, lived long and full lives. There is real pain and grief with those losses, but it hits harder when you learn of the death of someone who is near your age. It is an all too real reminder of your own mortality.
All the staff at Girl Scout Camp take on camp names which reflect some part of their personality. Beth’s friend’s camp name was “Pinnochio.” It is how I have always known her, even when she gave us the behindthe- scenes-tour when stopping for a college visit at her campus. It was strangely unsettling to see that camp name beside her real one when reading her obituary.
I spoke to Beth on Wednesday night, checking in on her and seeing if there was anything I could do.
“I need a dad hug,” was her reply.
Being a dad means being there to scare off the monsters under the bed. It means being there to help pick you up when you are fallen. Sometimes it it just means making room in a busy day and driving 40 minutes each way to give you a hug and help you find your smile when you are feeling sad.
My personal theory is that dad hugs work like sponges with dads taking away some of the fear, hurt, sadness and pain from your children to make life bearable again.
I was thinking about this and thinking about how many times my own dad had been there for me over the years as I drove back to Medford and to my crowded, color-coded fair week schedule.
I am sure it was just the brightness of driving westward into the afternoon sun that brought moisture to my eyes.
Brian Wilson is News Editor at The Star News.
