A Father's Day weekend to remember

This holiday weekend taught me that it's not about me.

Sunset at Langston Lake, one of America’s hidden gems.

LANGSTON, Okla. — My Father’s Day morning started with three sermons, two donuts and one colorful rubber bracelet Parker handmade for me.

But my joy spanned Father’s Day weekend, which began in earnest for me and mine at 5:05 a.m. last Thursday morning.

That’s when I woke up, piled into my car with Parker, my lady friend Triest, and her 9-year-old daughter Tiffany to set out on a 12-hour drive from Chicago to Langston, Okla. It was Parker’s annual visit to her native state, where much of her family resides. But for the four of us, it was our first road trip.

I had no idea how it would go. Yet by Sunday morning, my yearly trek had morphed from a self-centered tradition into an others-centered calling.

I had been looking at Father’s Day all wrong.

For the second year in a row, I spent the holiday at my mother’s house in my hometown, basking in the abundance of the small town simple life. For three days, I soaked in sunrises and sunsets, skipped rocks at Langston Lake and scarfed down apple pie and Braum’s homestyle strawberry ice cream.

I had decided to turn this trip into a tradition through Parker’s childhood. It would allow her to spend time with her Grandma Berta, I reasoned. But truthfully, it would satisfy my selfish preference to be with both my mother and daughter on Dad’s Day.

My perspective changed over the past three days and four nights. It became clear that our annual Father’s Day trip is not for me. It’s for Parker. It’s for her to make memories that will last her lifetime, the kind I still have from visiting Houston to spend time with my grandparents and extended family.

Before we crammed as much as we could into 84 hours back home, we piled into my Dodge Journey, and I prayed that we’d arrive before a severe storm swept the Plains. I vowed to accept whatever antics two 9-year-old girls drummed up while confined to the backseat of a car for a half-day.

With the exception of a couple of car malfunctions that portend another repair bill, we made it safely and sanely.

On Friday morning, I played golf with Triest, a cousin and uncle. Grandma Berta treated Parker, Tiffany and another friend of Parker’s to a tea party, lunch and a spa day for manicures and pedicures.

Parker showing off her manicure with clear coat. | Photo by Grandma Berta

Later that night, the four of us enjoyed the sunset at Langston Lake, one of my favorite places in the world, before I pigged out on apple pie and ice cream.

Bright and early on Saturday morning, I drove to nearby Guthrie, Okla., for mouth-watering donuts from Missy’s Donuts. If you think my love for pizza was a little nutty, you should have seen me in my donut days. As a youth, I shared with a brother that I wanted to be called “Donut” because I loved them so much. Now, it takes a special donut to be worth my time. Missy’s in Guthrie offers that donut. It was one of only two things I cared to experience during our trip. I couldn’t believe their cinnamon roll was even better than their succulent glazed donut.

A morning walk with Triest around serene Langston followed my Missy’s run. I made sausage, egg and cheese croissant sandwiches for my mother and Triest. Then I took Parker and Tiffany swimming at my brother and sister-in-law’s community pool.

Then came Parker’s favorite part of the weekend — a pizza contest orchestrated and judged by her Grandma Berta. The three-way tie between Parker, Tiffany and my 7-year-old nephew Martin was the biggest foregone conclusion since Kevin Durant went to Golden State to gift wrap the Warriors two NBA championships. But as a pizza man, I was quite impressed with Tiffany’s chicken, pepperoni, mozzarella, parmesan and basil.

For their prize, the three “winners” got to dig in Grandma Berta’s money jar. They got to keep however many coins they could pull out with one fist-full.

From left to right: Tiffany’s creation, Parker’s happy face pizza and Martin’s pepperoni.

Meanwhile, I splurged on honey lemon pepper chicken wings from Chick N Beer in Oklahoma City, some of the best wings I’ve had and the only other item I was set on having during our trip.

I also bought a case of Oklahoma-brewed Coop F5 IPAs, which used to be my favorite local beer, to enjoy Saturday night. Between chicken wings, beer, donuts and Braum’s ice cream, I spent $106.51 on treats I’ve trained myself to live without. The donuts and wings were planned expenses. The ice cream was a hit with the kids, while the beer came through in the clutch for the adults.

The severe storm that was expected Thursday finally arrived Saturday. A sudden downpour coupled with damaging wind and a hail storm to give our guests from Chicago the true Oklahoma experience. Power at my mom’s house flickered multiple times but fortunately never was lost. Neighbors and loved ones weren’t so lucky. A silver lining was that the storm forced my brother Clifton to shelter in place with his six children, Parker’s cousins. An impromptu, albeit scary, sleepover ensued, giving the children more time to play in a house now crawling with a dozen people.

Parker strolled into my room Sunday morning wearing a 2XL shirt that swallowed her. “Happiness is being a Grammy,” it read. My heart couldn’t have been filled anymore by makeshift pajamas.

Long before entering, Parker left an envelope outside my bedroom door. Inside was a multicolored, rubber bracelet she made as my gift. I promptly slid it on my right wrist, along with my green Money Talks bracelet and black “Pray First” bracelet.

From bed, I ate a leftover glazed donut from the day before, and then I went back for a chocolate frosted. Both were still as delicious as the day before.

But the sermons, all three, hit the spot. They served as emotional reminders about my role as a father.

I had consumed content on fatherhood all week and spent considerable time pondering and discussing the topic. But I couldn’t wait for the 11 a.m. message titled “Black Fathers Matter.” The pastor delivered a powerful, tag-team message with his father, the two of them illustrating and articulating what it means for fathers to leave a legacy.

My eyes welled and my thoughts drifted between my experience having never met my father and all I’m doing to ensure Parker understands the depth of Daddy’s love for her. I also thought about the responsibility I now have as a father figure to Tiffany and the impact I’ll have simply by exposing her to a new experience and memories she’ll carry with her.

Both are only children. Parker lives 800 miles away from most of her extended family. Tiffany comes from a small family and has only older, distant cousins.

I might never know the significance of them spending three, jam-packed days and four, fun-filled nights in small-town Oklahoma.

But I know this Father’s Day weekend was my favorite yet, and it had far more to do with them than it did me.