Happy Birthday, Papa Rooster

He's a prime number, again.

Just one of my little oddities, he said.

He has a few, all endearing. Like bursting into song. Like making silly faces and speaking gibberish. Or dancing. And refusing to repeat for our amusement.

Not the Papa Rooster you know? These are the rare occurrences, the unusual moments, the random outbreaks. All the more endearing for their scarcity.

The Papa Rooster that most people see is Father Rooster, with the collar on--passionate and compassionate. Earnest. Listening and leading.

Or Mr. Rooster, the businessman. All sense and seriousness. Focused. Intense.

At home, we see that. Worried about the end of the sales quarter. Preoccupied with a sermon. Wrestling with an idea and pinning it down to the mat in an email. Mr./Fr. Rooster has a lot of responsibilities in his life.

But then, there's Papa Rooster. He loves to laugh. No comedy is too stupid, no fart not funny. He makes the faces, speaks in gibberish and dances for us. Briefly. Randomly. Never by request.

He sings. Loudly. Drowning out anybody else, making up his own words when necessary. On our first dates, walking me back to the college dorm, he'd sing Broadway show tunes into the night. Years later, I'd realize they were to me. "Pretty women, fascinating, drinking coffee, dancing..." Today he sings me Kenny Chesney or Chris Rice (Here come those eyes...there goes my ability to....

He runs. And pushes his kids to run with him. He plays ultimate frisbee. And laments his age for days afterward.

He's a friend. When I met him in college, he knew everybody. Everybody! He's doesn't have that kind of social energy anymore. Still, he keeps up a lot of relationships.

He loves nature. Loves the beach, the bike trails, rolling farmland--it all speaks to his soul and replenishes his tired mind. Lately he's been loving it through the lens of a new camera. For his birthday, he asked if we could join him here after work.

He loves his family. He loves the quirky things about each child--has always loved quirky people--how much more endearing in one's own child? He loves the good and wrestles with the bad in each one of us--me included. He calls us to be the best that God made us to be. He pushes for growth but thoroughly enjoys the present moment with each of us.

He loves God. With his mind, his heart, his soul. He's an ordinary sinner and an extraordinary saint, at the same time. Humble. Repentant. Committed. Gifted.

And have I mentioned that he's brilliant?

With a few little oddities, though. Like enjoying being a prime number for his birthday.

Happy Forty-Third to a Papa in his prime.