April 14th every year weighs on me more than most any other day. Many would think it’s because, as a tax preparer, I’m ready for the season to be OVER! While true, that would be only scratching the surface.

I moved to a new house in February after renting for just over a year. After being a homeowner for 15 years, the notion of renting was a challenging experience. I conditioned my mind by saying, “I’d rather have the money in my pocket than tied up in dirt” and things of that nature. But at the end of the day, it wasn’t MY place and therefore that pride of ownership stopped and the pride of just being presentable took over. They say pride comes before the fall…I guess in some respects, I understand that a little better today.

It was amazing what taking that time off of “owning” did for and to me. It changed my approach to things. It also helped firm my grip on exactly what, and who, I want to be. I took a 50-year-old house that had been pretty-well maintained and about halfway remodeled, and through the help of a fabulous contractor and friend, I now have a place that is fully remodeled, with some of those deep rich colors I thought I’d be too nervous to try. I allowed my kids to pick the colors for their rooms. My daughter didn’t disappoint – with “Candid Blue” as her choice – the only room it matches in the entire house is…well…itself! My son…he chose a tan color because it was a power color with one of his video game heroes – this only after I nixed black as his first choice.

Yes, with Spring marching its way into 2013, I’ve watched my yard start calling for help – just as it has every year. Weeds began growing faster, the neighbor’s pecan trees shedding their buds all over the place, and leftover leaves from last fall all beckon me to break away from tax preparations and begin enjoying my new yard. I have so many plans…so many dreams of what this yard will be. But still, I find myself glued…almost in fear of the albatross in front of me. I envision a backyard full of flowers and power – my own oasis where I can sit to enjoy many a long summer evenings – teaching my kids the value of elbow grease and reaping what I sow. The task is so large, and the April 15th deadline always sets me back about 3-4 weeks into the season.

But again, this just scratches the surface…

At breakfast this morning, I reflected on a theme that seems to weigh on me often these days. With any Spring season, my “off-time” spent preparing tax returns takes me away from what I love the most…my kiddos. I have a beautiful 12-year-old daughter who seems more glued now than ever to her technology – and as nicely as she is coming along, I long for the days that seem like yesterday when she was just so much more dependent on me. She still needs me…and I know she’s still a daddy’s girl all the way – for that I’m eternally grateful.

My son…that sweet, intelligent, ADHD, and sometimes mildly unmanageable little boy…he seems to be a constant reminder of where I think I fail as a father. All he wants is a tickle, a wrestle, or some video game time, and more times than not, I respond with that infamous “later”. If my daughter can teach me anything, it’s that 4 year age difference that ought to scream to me “NOW! NOT LATER!”

Twenty-five years ago tonight, my life changed directions that bring tears to me even to this day. The measuring stick of my success as a father – my own dad, whom my son is named after, passed away. I was a nineteen year old kid…a good kid, a sweet, intelligent, ADHD, and sometimes mildly unmanageable little boy. The man who’d been the rock of our family was gone and I was thrust into manhood faster than I ever expected.

Dad was a family man…family first…every time…without fail. We spent countless hours throwing balls in the front yard or shooting baskets, or playing tricks on mom. I learned a lot – good and bad – from the best dad I’ve ever seen. I may not have learned to fish like other boys, but I learned about what matters most in life to me – my family. Those who’ve come across our family over the years agree that it’s something special. We’re fun in our own way, we love each other, we back each other up…and we still play tricks on mom…just to keep things fun.

I guess over the past 25 years, I’ve struggled with “later”. I know someday…hopefully a long way down the road, I’ll cross paths again with Dad. And all I want to hear him say is that I did a pretty good job measuring up.

One of the songs that I love to sing – but can rarely finish without breaking up a bit, came on this morning while I was in my car. I’ve probably eluded to it in other writings – and I think I identify with it because of a particular phrase in the song about not being there the morning that his father passed away. But there’s more to the lyrics than just one parallel we all eventually share. In Mike and the Mechanics’ “The Living Years”, the following chorus repeats several times:

Say it Loud, Say it Clear
You can listen as well as you hear
It’s too late when we die
To admit we don’t see eye to eye.

The premise is simple. As humans, we don’t all see eye to eye. As a family, we certainly didn’t. And yet we hold each other so dear, we still figure out a way to work through those differences and move forward. We don’t sacrifice a future with the bitterness that lasts from past quarrels.

I think that applies not only to familial relationships, but to our humanity as a whole. Say what needs to be said…VALUE your differences – but don’t hold any bitterness over them.

I remember the morning my daughter was born. I was scared to death! I had no clue how to be a dad, except by the man who’d passed away 12 years before. It was a wildly emotional event to become a proud papa…and boy was I ever emotional! But some of the drama had been eliminated from childbirth, as the mother and I knew my daughter’s gender before she was born. For the next birth, we knew nothing – and wanted it that way. We’d settled on names for both sides of the equation. A girl name I can’t remember, and then my son’s name – which would be my father’s first name.

When the delivering doctor announced we had a baby boy, I burst into tears, head between my knees…absolutely sobbing. In a very powerful, pressure-packed way, I’d been given a chance to show my son what being a “Howard” was all about.

The song continues:

I wasn’t there that morning
When my father passed away
I didn’t get to tell him
All the things I had to say…

I think I caught his spirit
Later that same year
I’m sure I heard his echo
In my baby’s new born tears
I just wish I could’ve told him…in the Living Years.

I’ve always said if I could be half the man my dad was, I’d be alright. Maybe I saw him larger than life because I was where I was in life the moment he died…young and dumb. Then again, maybe it was all a little bit of perfection – so that I could cherish my role all these years later of being the father of two really great kids.

The reasons don’t really matter…what does matter is this…Dad, I wish I would’ve told you one more time how much I loved you. And for Scottie and Ward, I hope you know your dad loves you more than anything on the planet. I’ve said “later” a few too many times…so next time I see you both,

It’s NOW…NOT LATER!

Tim