Groundhog Day

Groundhog Day (which is one my favorite comedies - I'll blog more one day on the type of comedies that always catch my fancy) and its namesake (February 2nd) will always hold some bittersweetness for me. Groundhog Day 1989 is the day my dad (John Dillard King III) died of cancer (I was 7), and in some ways my siblings and my mom are forced to relive that day each year not unlike Bill Murray's character was forced to relive his own Groundhog Day over and over in the movie. I know that Christopher, my older brother, in particular feels the effect of the day strongly. It reminds me of Frodo in the Lord of the Rings, because there was a long period of his life after his adventures where he would become sick on the anniversary of being stabbed by the ring-wraith on Weathertop, and also on the anniversary of being stung by the huge spider in Mordor.

20 years' distance does help a bit, to be sure. It doesn't feel anything now like it did in the days and months after it happened. But 20 years! Wow. Very hard to believe that nearly 3 times as many years have passed as how many I'd lived around my dad. People often wonder if I can remember him very well, but I always explain that in my child's mind at age 7, a world with Dad was the only one I'd ever known, so all I have to do is remember what it was like to be a kid, and with all those memories come a lot filled with him. Sometimes the things I remember remind me of myself now that I'm an adult (of course he was a much older adult than I am - he was 53 when I was born!), particularly in areas of humor. He was good at waiting for the joke, just like me. Good comedy takes a lot of patience (reference Andy Kaufman for an example of what I mean), especially when you're using the contrast of inaction and action (like the basic fun thing to do with kids of acting like you don't know they are there, like you're reading or something, knowing the kid is locked on you with a huge smile, and then when they get close, making a loud noise and quickly reaching out to grab them). And then occasionally I'll catch a memory of my dad calling for me to come to dinner or something (I was always slow - still quite am) because all of a sudden I'll hear his voice in mine when I'm saying something to Sarah across the house.

I have to admit though that all my personal knowledge of Dad is from a child's perspective, and though I've heard a lot about the adult side of his life, it's different from actually knowing him as an adult myself. I sure would like to have a conversation with him now, just to see how our personalities would get along. I'm sure he was even more interesting and quirky than I realize (as all people are once you get to know them), and I would have loved to see our relationship play out as I got older.

I'm glad to know above all that he trusted Christ. And I trust God through all the circumstances of my life, even my dad's death. When he died, I was, as a 7-year-old, confronted with the idea of 'eternity' and I began my own journey of trusting Christ. If He could keep my dad safe in Heaven, He could do the same for me. The words of Ecclesiastes 3:10-11 have become particularly poignant since that time.