Dad's Whistlestop

I Can Still Hear His Call

As far back as I can remember, I could be meandering an aisle in a store, lost in my own thoughts, or playing in the woods with my friends when I would hear the specific whistle from my mom or dad. Like a distinct call from a mama bird to her chicks. I imagine each species has a unique song. Maybe even each family.

Ours held a long high pitch tone followed by an equally long low note. [You may listen on the recording if you’re curious]🎵

My dad taught us all to use that special sound, and everyone knew our family’s call.

One time, believe it or not, family friends of my parents happened to be at Disneyland at the same time our family was enjoying a vacation when they heard my dad’s whistle signaling that my sister, standing not far off, needed to return to our group for lunch. The old friends followed that chord, knowing it had to be my dad and joined us for an unexpected visit in the shade together.

Our family members could all be going our separate ways, and indeed we were, metaphorically as well as physically, but when mom or dad whistled, we stopped to hear the correct rise and fall of the musical notes. And then we were pulled together to the same destination. One familiar, cohesive group—as if on reset for a moment before we set out again.

My brother and I are not as close as some—no bad blood or anything, just not a lot in common. However, in some ways, shared experiences bond us uniquely.

I know that if I happened to be in a store where my brother, unknowingly, was also shopping and I whistled for my little one, he would know his sister was nearby.

The song plays in the same etched grooves in each of our brains. A pathway that our dad gave to all of his children.

These days, all of my siblings text each other on the anniversary of our parents’ death or on their birthdays. I think those dates, imprinted on each of our souls, draw us together at those key times. We’ll think of each other at the same time and then all feel the magnetic pull more strongly in those brief moments, like we all heard the whistle.

---

A pastor shared an interesting video recently to illustrate the familiar passage where The Good Shepherd says His sheep listen and know His voice and follow Him. I’m definitely not comparing my dad to Jesus here, but I am struck by the real-world illustration—how that analogy about a specific shepherd’s voice makes perfect sense.

The film showed a man visiting a pasture—sheep grazing far off in the distance while he spoke with the shepherd. The shepherd instructed the man to try calling the sheep with any one of his tricks and sounds he uses, and the man tried and tried to no avail. The shepherd then made one quick sound with his tongue & cheek, and the sheep came running. They had been trained to only respond to his voice.

Today, if I were out wandering and heard a whistle off in the distance, I might listen for a second, testing the arrangement of the notes. It would not be my dad’s, and I would not stop, turn, or respond in any way. I only know my father’s whistle.

Sometimes I think I hear that whistle now, calling me.

[Just updated this story with voiceover so you can hear the whistle. 🎙️]

Do you have a special call that draws your family together?

[I am getting closer to publishing my memoir—a story that delves into the past and shows the strong connection I have with my father, yet it is relevant to all who search for that security even later on in years. All who at one time or another ask, “Who am I?” If you share my short narratives, it might lead others to this deeper story to come. And I would be grateful. ♥️ ]