My Dad's Suitcase

Repost. Again, yesterday’s memories and today’s ponderings.

One of my earliest memories is at the age of three or four. I'm in the Chattanooga airport standing in front of a giant glass display of the history of the Coca-Cola Bottle  (Chattanooga is the birthplace of Coca-Cola bottling). This display was the backdrop for what was truly important...my dad in a suit with a suitcase. I was tugging at his leg and saying "...hold me".  He swooped me up with one arm and with no hesitation. He gave me a squeeze. I could feel the roll of certs in his lapel pocket, reached in, and took one for myself.....I inhale with my face nustled at his neck. Oh, the sweet-smelling savor….Certs and Malox and Paco Rabanne. But if asked, what is that scent? I would say, safety, love, and security (my Dad of course). Oh, I love this man! He never hesitated then nor a thousand other times to swoop down and pick me up in some way or another. 

I can close my eyes and see this so vividly.

Dad traveled a lot, so there are many airport memories and to this day I love airports. They always make me think of my daddy....and his suitcase.

Days before a trip the suitcases would come out. Suits were taken to the cleaners and brought back draped in plastic (which I loved to put over my head and freak my mother out with her fear of my suffocation - I was a weird kid). Dad could pack perfectly well, but it was Mom that made sure everything was there and in its place. And at least one love note tucked in somewhere.

I know this sounds terrible but I would start to get excited when I saw my dad pack. Of course, I missed him when he was gone. As I got older I missed him more and more. But as a little girl I would begin anticipating his return.....and the return of that suitcase! You see he would leave with a suitcase full of socks and hankies (remember hankies), shirts, shoes, pajamas, and mom's love note.....But when he returned that suitcase has been transformed into a magical box that contained treasures from exotic places.

After days or sometimes weeks, the day would come for dad's plane to land. Excitedly, my mom and I would drive to the airport to be there for dad's return. My favorite airport pick-ups were the ones late at night when I could wear pajamas.

Now, this was way back in the day and you could actually be waiting at the terminal door when travelers disembarked. I loved the moment when the doors would open and one by one the plane would release its occupants. Men and women and children of all shapes and sizes would walk through those doors, tired and travel-worn.

I would look around them, past them, and even under them to get the first glimpse of my Dad making his way to us. The routine was always the same. I would break free from my mother’s grip, and run to my dad who would once again scoop me up. Then he would hurry to mom for that embrace the love note in the suitcase had told him to anticipate.

Next stop. The magical merry-go-round of luggage. Mom and dad caught up and discussed the kids, dad's trip, current events, etc.....but I was keenly watching the luggage carousel until I caught a glimpse of it.....the suitcase of treasures, my Dad’s suitcase.

The drive home from the airport felt longer than the trip had been. But once home...no matter what time it was or how utterly exhausted he was....the treasure box was opened. How he managed to get gifts for absolutely everyone I don't know....but he did. I can again close my eyes and see the delight in his soft gray-blue eyes as he revealed each item one by one.

He knew how to present them in a way that made me even more excited about other people’s stuff!! There they were...clothes and shoes and perfume and music boxes and trinkets from each and every place he had been. With each revelation of a treasure, there was a story about the people and the places he’d been. History was brought to life by these wonderful objects and his stories.

Then…the piece de resistance....the moment I had waited for.....my doll.

On every trip and every country he ever traveled to, my sister and I would get a doll. He would give her to me and tell me about where she was from. He would tell me about the real children from there. He would give me some kind of insight into the culture and life there.

As a child, I never realized that it was unusual that when friends would come over to play, I didn’t have Barbies. But I did have Flamenco dancers from Spain, Geisha girls from Japan, British Beefeaters, a noble old woman Guru from India, an Israeli woman carrying a pitcher of water on her head, a Turkish dancer, a baby from Brussels, an Eskimo girl dressed in real fur, and so many more from literally around the globe. To this day I love these diverse and beautiful dolls and I still display them as a prized collection.

They each represent a moment in time in which my father had me and only me on his mind.

Today as I "unpack" the real treasures my father gave me....unconditional love, a passion for people, a living faith, selfless devotion to family, and not only a hunger for God's word but a determined purpose to live it and share it...I am profoundly grateful.

As a mom, though my kids lacked nothing growing up, I can’t travel the world and bring them suitcases full of gifts. But I can make sure to give them the things that matter...A thousand ways to let them know they were the only thing on my mind, words of affirmation, my time, a love for God's word, intercession, laughter, honesty & transparency, faith & hope. 

God help me to live the legacy I have so richly been given by my parents. Help me to live it out for my family. May they know, just like I did, the height and depth and breadth of Your love. Oh God, let them close their eyes and remember the moments that they knew security and love and hope and laughter and delight. And let them know how to pass those moments along to others.