By DEBANINA SEATON
The Commercial Review
The other day I went to someone’s house to retrieve a Tupperware container that held peanut butter cookies. I discovered they were gone in less than two hours so I could have gotten the plastic earlier in the week.
I went back to my car, put the key in the ignition and to my surprise, the car would not start. Several hours of trying to jump my battery, I learned it was the starters preventing my travel home.
I called my mom for advice but in the end, the last person I spoke to was my dad, who ended up helping me pay to get my car fixed.
For me, my mother has always been my front line in battle, but my dad has always been the cavalry.
My father, Steven Seaton Sr., is an interesting fellow. He is the oldest of three, the first to get married, the first to move out and the first to become an ordained elder in his family.
Sometimes he’d tell my brothers and me embarrassing stories from his youth. One in particular was the story of the game “Kay.”
“What’s Kay,” my brother, Michael, asked.
Kay was a special game my father played with his friends where they’d turn off all the lights, black all the basement windows “and knock each other senseless,” he added.
“When you were done, you screamed “Kay!”
Everyone laughed.
In high school my father was an athlete and a popular guy, but he was also a quiet man. It’s probably why I seem to be very reserved.
But my father, despite his wacky and sometimes absurd behavior, he has always had my brothers’ backs and mine.
At age 13, my leg muscles locked and I couldn’t walk. I fell down and wasn’t able to move. My mom’s upper arm strength wasn’t there so hauling me down a flight of stairs was not easy for either of us. I screamed and told everyone, “I want my daddy,” because I knew he could help.
He came home and carried me to a tub of Epsom salt, hot water and a sad teenager’s tears.
Despite his quiet nature, he has been the one to lay down the law in our home. My mom would do all the screaming on a given topic, but my dad would just say what was needed, and the discussion ended.
I am one of those lucky individuals who was able to know my father, have him in the home growing up and not have to witness a divorce between him and my mom for some unfortunate circumstance on either adult’s behalf.
He believes in hard work. He still works voluntary overtime to have extra money to pay bills. He believes in education. I remember coming home with a progress report two-tenths shy of a 4.0 grade point average and he was livid.
But he believed in consistency: if we show ourselves one way, we should remain that same person.
No parent is perfect. Parenting is the job I doubt no one could perfect. But I am thankful I have my dad. Quirks and all, he is my father and I love him.
Happy Father’s Day.