He would shout from the stands when no one else would. Screaming and coaching like he was the team manager. Play like the Germans, he would say, Good-en-Tight! His accent was thick and identifiable over any other fathers who politely cheered for their daughters on the soccer field.

I remember squirming when he would whistle like a maniac as the ball entered the net or I had a good pass to center forward. That was my dad; loud, passionate, and wholly embarrassing.

One day after my varsity soccer game my junior year, a ripe and caustic retort spewed from my lips after a bitter loss to our rival team. I hate when you scream and yell! It’s so embarrassing! Why can’t you be like other fathers and just watch the game like a normal person?!

I saw the hurt in his eyes. The father he never had but always envisioned would cheer for his children and whistle and yell and shout, Play Good-en-Tight like zie Germans! He solemnly said he wouldn’t embarrass me anymore and promised to act like the other fathers who politely sat in the bleachers and watched their daughters on the soccer field.

I will never forget that day. 

I was embarrassed, but more than anything I was sad that I hurt the person who loved me the most and proudly cheered on his daughter was now the man I was muzzling out of shame. He embarrassed me… and I let him know.

Last night the man who cheered for his daughter and yelled by the sidelines, sat in Mariners Chapel after traveling over 20,000 miles from Israel, endured jet lag, and drove to Orange County by himself to sit on the sidelines and politely support his flesh and blood like the father he never had but always envisioned.

I saw a bald head and brown arms raised during worship and I recognized it was my father. I slowly made my way to my dad’s side and linked my arm in his. He smiled and whispered, Surprise. What I wanted to say was, Thank you for cheering for me! Thank you for supporting me! Thank you for being here and thank you for encouraging me to preach like zie Germans: Good-en-Tight!

But I couldn’t. The sentiment wouldn’t come out without tears; I swallowed the words and squeezed his arm tighter. As I stood before a body of Christ followers to dispense the gospel, I wanted to hear him scream and yell and whistle like he did many years ago. As I scanned the audience when the study began, I saw my dad and his large eyes beaming with pride. The eyes I hurt so many years ago were full of joy and excitement and happiness as his flesh and blood spoke about salt and light.

I will never forget that day.

Daddy, I just want to tell you that I’m sorry for saying that you embarrassed me. I wanted you to be something you were not during a time when you wanted me to be who I was. Last night I stood before my brothers and sisters in Christ knowing not only who I was, but who God has called me to be, and I knew it was because of your support, love, and encouragement. Thank you for cheering me on. Keep yelling for me to Play like zie Germans: Good-en-Tight! I need to know you aren’t like the other dads who politely watch their daughters, but instead, push them to be all that God has called them to be. 

Whistling, yelling, and cheering,
B

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