Spoiled not Spanked

It's not always hot in Houston...sometimes it rains, sometimes it floods. Ok, it floods a lot, and it is hot all of the time. I remember one day in the fourth-ish year of my existence when it rained in Noah go-grab-your-ark proportions. I was a wee tot so my memory of the peripheral details may be a bit skewed but here is what it looked like from my vantage point.

The news dosed out as many flash flood warnings as they could. My sister, brother and I watched the T.V. closely while my parents were still at work (I'm pretty sure they were at work). At some point they both likely called home to instruct us to keep safe inside. So between the sounds of the emergency tones blaring on the television, my parents clear admonition, and the neighborhood kids playing outside we determined (and by we I mean my brother and sister who are 7 and 11 years my senior determined) that going outside wouldn't be so dangerous after all. So into the deep brown bayou water we went. I remember I was wearing this one piece white terry cloth shorts set with a rainbow elastic waistband. I can still feel the heaviness of that itchy outfit when this memory surfaces. I also remember riding a neighbors canoe down the middle of the street. Then my mind flashes to being inside with my dad...my very upset, frustrated and confused dad. Mike Criddell was not a proud poppa that day. My sister and brother were served up a grade-A butt-whoopin that afternoon. I didn't see it but I have no doubt. Then it was my turn (here is where Mike Criddell starts telling the story)...up to this point I had never been spanked. Just as my dad braced me I said, "Hold on, daddy, can we talk?" He kneeled down looking me right in the eye, chuckled and said, "Naw little girl, I am about to give you a spanking." I continued..."I love you; you know that right?...but daddy it hurts my feelings when you yell at (or are upset with) me so I want to make a deal. If you don't ever yell at me I promise I will do whatever you ask me to do." I stuck my little bold 3 inch hand out for a seal-the-deal handshake and the old man took the bait....errr, I mean he took the deal and shook my hand. 

I can honestly say that my dad held true to his side of the bargain and I am certain that I probably did not. He has never yelled at me in anger. He never and I repeat, never raised his hand to swat my little well-deserving toosh.  My dad will tell this tale to anyone who will listen...in fact I'm sure you have already heard it, whoever you may be. He tells it to relatives and potential business partners alike. He is completely indiscriminate. This is more than a cute little story about a clever toddler who got her way one rainy, Houston afternoon. This story epitomizes my dad's character. It is the purest summation of our relationship.

That is dad's favorite story about me but let me tell share a few about him.

My Ace...
My dad calls me everyday just to talk. He sings, "Heeeeeey Good Looking. Whaaatcha got cookin?" And we enter into a discourse of equals. We are two old men in Central Park playing chess...my father and I. We are in tears laughing over silly relatives and Maury Povich revelations. We discuss politics and educational bureaucracy. The old man even receives theological counsel from me. Somehow I feel like his babygirl and his trusted colleague all in one sitting. I am loved. I am respected.

My Hero...
When he first spoke to James on the phone he talked about me for an hour. I asked James, "How did it go?" He said, "Your dad said he would walk any distance to get to you if had to...and you know what?...I believe him." I do too.

My Reminder...
When life is unfair, he reminds me who I am. A guy broke my heart once...made me cry. Dad was so gentle. He stood at the foot of my bed and said, "I once broke a girl's heart. She was kind and pure like you. I wish I had never hurt her. I didn't know who she was and he doesn't either, baby. Someday someone will know and he won't break your heart." And then he turned and walked away.

I watch him...

Every Sunday morning...
He looks at my mom during worship with his heart turned inside out. He is a pool of pathetic puppy-love around my mom and he has no qualms about it. In his eyes there is the dichotomy of pure joy and despair. He is in love and he refuses to hide it but you can see the hurt of the constant realization that he cannot live without her. I am blessed to witness this public look of love...his audacious adoration.

Whenever he is with my nephews...
He knows how to treat them like men. He rubs the tops of their heads. Firmly, "I am the Father. I am the leader."...Gently, "I know you. I see you. I love you."

These are the conversations that I remember. These are the sweet indelible images left in my mind by a man who knows no end to love and sacrifice. You haven't laughed until you have sat through his tales of being "Twinkie the Kid". You haven't danced until he has asked for your hand to bop with him through a Motown classic. You haven't seen a true champion of innocence unless you are his child. To be loved by Mike Criddell is a blessing and an honor. He is a student of his offspring. A keeper of promises. The tenderest teddybear Marine there is.

You see...
I am a woman who is loved well. I can identify and accept the love of my heavenly Father because of the love that is shown to me by my dad, Mr. Mike Criddell. Check the expiration date because I am spoiled and he wouldn't have it any other way.