It's Funny...

....how you can know a person and yet....not. I didn't know, for example, that Dad would be giving the keynote address for Charity's high school graduation today. I just sorta walked in and picked up the program and thought, "Oh. Cool. Dad's speaking."

I'm used to the "Dad's speaking" thing. I go to at least a few conferences with my parents every year, and people always come by the booth with stars in their eyes...

"Your dad is so wonderful!"

I smile, and think to myself, "You have no idea." I always figured that they couldn't possibly have a clue about how neat Dad really is--I mean, come on, they only heard him speak. I get to live with him.

My conception of Dad begins with his eyes. I always wanted eyes just like his, and I got the color at least. They're blue. But they aren't just "blue." They have a thousand shades and moods; they can snap, sparkle, shine, or pierce. When Daddy looks at you, he's all there, and you are too because he is. It's hard to explain. It's what I suppose people call "magnetism." My brothers have it too, but I'm so used to it that I seldom notice any more. It's just sorta... "Of course I want to hang out with them, talk to them, be around them. Doesn't everybody?"

I'm familiar with Dad as a passionate worshiper of God, as a logical mind like a steel trap, a counselor of homeschooling parents, an amateur philosopher, a brilliant parent and teacher, a teddy bear, an astonishingly happy person, a gifted storyteller, a subtle and powerful read-aloud performer, a slightly off-tune singer. I know all about his marvelous drop biscuits and Book Laws. I could tell you of his dinner-table habits and penchant for whiteboards. I know that he wakes up instantly when called, and when I was little I used to watch him shave. I know that his favorite color is green. I know that he writes poetry for Mom.

But what surprises me, because my opportunities to hear him are actually very rare, is that he's a splendid public speaker. I'm always minding the booth while he's giving speeches, and I seldom have any idea which room he's in. I only know that people come out starry-eyed and fresh and bouncy and looking hopeful.

So, it was odd to be able to sit and listen to him today. Five years ago, I wouldn't have been able to appreciate it as rationally as I could today, because back then I hadn't had Rhetoric, and I hadn't had to sit under dozens of professors, chapel speakers, or town hall speakers. Now that I have, I'm in a better position to evaluate.

He's special. The magnetism comes across very well from behind a podium, but he doesn't know that. He has a knack for soundbites, tells jokes and stories, but he's purposeful, clear, polished, and absolutely sincere. His voice broke with emotion twice today, and I could distinctly hear the homeschool moms whom he was honoring--they were in tears. Mom had a handkerchief. Dad isn't kidding when he says that homeschool moms are his personal heroes. Maybe that's part of it: Daddy hates a lie, and doesn't say anything he doesn't mean. In my whole life, neither he nor Mommy has ever lied to me or broken a promise.

Wow.

I know so much about him. I know everything that matters. I just didn't realize how much his personal integrity, fear of God, and love for his family, combined with intelligence and wisdom, could communicate to an audience. I've been learning a lot about the importance of public speaking over this past year, especially the last semester. But I didn't expect to find such a shining example of it in my own family.

It's funny.

And wonderful.