Scruffy or scrappy and fabulous

Happy Father’s Day! 

My parents' on their traditional Navajo wedding day.

Who can imagine their life years into the future? Did this goofy man know that thirty-ish years down the road, his favorite child* would write (another) blog post about him? 

My dad is probably the most referenced family member on this blog. As a graduate student working long hours, I would call my parents' whenever I left the lab and trekked back to my car, 15 minutes away. Those consistent conversations reveal the endurance of their love. They supported my ambitions while helping me retain the scrappy Navajo girl within. Every winter break, I returned to AZ to refuel on mutton stew. My dad was usually the one who picked me up in Phoenix, a 4-hr drive (one-way) from my hometown. He was the one who always returned me at the end of the two-week break. Fortunately, some of those conversations are recorded in other writings. Our discussions ranged from the serious (e.g. eternal truths) to the silly (e.g. Harry Potter). We theorized and philosophized. But simply put, we laughed often. Sometimes, very rarely, we cried. 

Home is less than ten minutes away.

The land beyond this crevice is breathtaking. Home is ~30 minutes away.

In challenging times, I’ve witnessed the hope and tears of a father who would give up all he has to help his sons or daughters. Those stories are not to be told just yet. Rather, allow me to write of a memorable rescue from my dad. It took place when I was in graduate school. I was pretty beat, mentally and emotionally, which is a significant statement from someone who is described as scrappy. I tend to mask my emotional pain, even from my family. My dad, not knowing what turmoil I felt, said at the end of our phone conversation, “Xazmin, you are not only beautiful in appearance, but you are genuinely funny and intelligent. The best type of person that can exist. I always enjoy talking with you because you make me feel better.” I don’t think my dad knew, but tears streamed down my face when he told me that. He confirmed something that I knew about myself, but I lacked the strength to believe in that day. He was, for the longest time, the only person to tell me such wonderful things. Of course, these days, his scrappy grandson (my nephew Seth), tells me these things with utmost sincerity. It might seem like a trivial story, but that type of knowledge is empowering. Though my dad does not like magic, his words had the power to shake my thoughts, wipe those tears and figure out what I needed to do next. They were transformative. And meaningful.

I am grateful that I have these and many more stories about my dad, the ever fabulous**, Paul Lowman. 

The day I defended my dissertation at the University of MN and Dr. X became a legit nickname.

*It goes without saying, but I'm being facetious. My dad tells every kid he or she is the favorite. 

**This has been an inside joke in the family of which my dad probably forgets the origin. Let me refresh his memory. A few years ago, when my dad joined social media, he asked my younger brother and myself, "why don't people say they are fabulous? People always say "I'm okay. I'm fine... I'm going to start using fabulous!" Ammon and I burst into laughter and I have taken the opportunity to call him fabulous ever since. Also, he calls me scrappy, but he sometimes forgets and says "scruffy". Hence the title... :)