Still Want to Be Like Him

Shortly before his death in 2001, I went with some friends to hear Chet Atkins perform in a small venue in downtown Nashville. The raw honesty of the words he sang that night, coupled with the power of his guitar, transfixed those of us lucky enough to be there.

Among the songs he played was one that I had never heard before, a song about his father called “I Still Can’t Say Goodbye.” As Chet began to sing its opening lines,

When I was young
My dad would say
“C’mon, son, let’s go out and play”
Sometimes it seems like yesterday…

…thoughts of my father filled my heart, and tears flooded my eyes as I remembered the hours we had spent tossing the ball around together in the side yard.

And my heart nodded as Chet continued to sing,

And I’d climb up the closet shelf
When I was all by myself
Grab his hat and fix the brim
Pretending I was him…

…and I remembered how, when I was young, I had wanted to wear my father’s tool belt, or carry his canteen on a hike, or cast a fishing pole like him.

That song has been echoing within me ever since that night I first heard Chet sing it. And sometimes, in some thin place between present and past, it’s as if someone turns up the volume on that inner song, and I hear Chet’s voice dripping with truth once more.

And when that happens, the song shows up with the same power it had over me that night in Nashville so many years ago.

Sometimes I see my father caring for my mother as they age together, and I hear Chet sing, “he always took care of mom and me,” and I give thanks for the ways his care continues.

Or other times, when I find myself too busy with my children, or work, I hear him sing, “he always had some time for me,” and I realize once more how my father’s love revealed itself in the myriad ways he made time for me no matter what was going on in his life, something which he still does.

On this Fathers’ Day, I realize most clearly what I have always known: I still want to be like him.

I want to be the type of father who comes into his child’s darkened room the night before he was to return to school after a long absence because of sickness and speak words of comfort and hope.

I want to be the kind of person who carries cold lemonade and some sort of snack to share a feast with immigrants working in the nursery fields.

I want to live as simply and drama-free as he does, when your yes means yes and your no means no.

I hope to love my neighbors as much he loves his, and to live as closely to the things I am passionate about as he does.

I want my children to remember the phrases I speak to them as clearly, and as joyfully, as I remember the phrases he spoke so often to me, such as when we would be painting a spot that no one could see, and I would suggest there was no need to paint it, and he would say in response, “God can see it.”

Or, when he was trying to fix a car or repair the lawn mower, I knew he was stuck when he would mutter, “I like to believe that no machine is smarter than I am.”

Or, when I’d think we were lost on some drive and tell my father so, and he would simply respond, “Stick with me, kid.” And I always did, and we always ended up somewhere wonderful, even if not always where we intended.

Our journey is at a different stage these days. But I hope he knows that I still plan to stick with him, even as he has stuck with me.

And I still want to be like him.