Dad In The Stands

That's me. Number 16. Playing first base for the Huntington North High School Vikings on a cold, blustery, spring day in Indiana.

And, just off my right shoulder, that's my dad. He's the one in the French beret next to the pretty lady I call, "Mom."

Dad in the stands.

This scene, captured in our local hometown newspaper, was a normal sight for Brooks, Luke, and me as we were growing up "Fetters."

Our dad, Paul R. Fetters, is a great encourager.

One of the words most associated with him is "attaboy." Over the years, he's said it so much to his three sons and to others that he made up postcards with the word printed on it. He gives attaboys generously and religiously, constantly looking for the littlest achievement that deserves recognition. I still have most, if not all of the attaboys he ever gave me. I've received attaboys for good grades, for learning to drive, for helping mom clean the house, for preaching my first sermon, and the list goes on and on. I even scored an attaboy for baking a batch of chocolate chip cookies.

Looking back, it really didn't take much to get an attaboy from dad. Whether it came in the form of his hard-to-read handwriting or as words from his mouth, Pop's never been stingy about dolling out encouragment. It flows like water from a faucet. And, yes, it sometimes causes a bit of blushing.

One of Pop's most infamous "attaboys" was blurted out at a High school track and field event. My oldest brother, Brooks, was entered in the 100 yard dash against an in-school rival whom he had never beaten. As he came to the last 10 yards, Brooks was leading the field of runners. When he was about to bust through the tape for the win, Pop announced at the top of his lungs, "Atsa my boy!" (Not sure why he chose the Italian version, but his burst of pride was as awesome as it was memorable).

You see, whether it was a sporting event, a band or choir concert, or a theatrical performance; if we were playing in it, performing in it, or otherwise participating in it, Pop was in the stands or in the seats ready to cheer on the sons he sired.

For that, I thank you Pop, and give you a robust "ATTABOY!" on this Father's Day.