Tribute to My Dad

Tribute to my Dad

My dad never even thought of the concept of quality time. He never thought about what a child needed. He wasn’t concerned about the hours spent with his kids or if he had done parenting right. This doesn’t mean he wasn’t a good dad. It was just different then.

I was born in 1957. I don’t remember anything about the 50’s; my first memories began in 1960. I remember having the measles and chicken pox all the same month. I was so sick. I didn’t leave the house for the whole month and didn’t really want anyone to leave me either. I don’t remember specifics, just that I was cared for. I remember moving quite a few time before I was 5. I do not remember ever being held or hugged by my dad, but I never doubted he was my dad and that he would take care of me. My mom read me stories and held me and provided that cushion of love a child needed. I never felt I was lacking in anything.

When I got older, I realized my dad was really busy. He owned a business and was gone a lot. I didn’t question that; he had to work to provide for us. We didn’t do a lot of ‘fun’ things, but we traveled some. We spent a lot of time with grandparents and relatives. I was the youngest child and my parents had many other things to keep them busy. I was given more freedom than I probably should have had. I was rarely asked where I was going or what I was doing. I am not sure if they trusted me that much or if they were done parenting at that point.

My sister is 13 years older than me and my brother is 7 years older than me. I don’t remember much about my sister being at home. My parents could have parented her completely differently than I was parented. I only know what she has told me. My brother graduated from high school when I was done with 6^th grade. I remember some of the conflicts with him and, also, that it seemed to me that he was favored because he was the only son. I can’t speak about how they were parented, what they remember, what they felt. I can only speak from my experiences.

My dad wasn’t always a happy man. He only went through the eighth grade and never felt like he was educated enough. He had angry moments that came out mostly to my mom. I reacted to that angrily, too, and we had our share of conflicts. I was not quiet about how I felt. It had the added effect of me feeling like I would never submit to any man or let any man rule over me! I wrote papers about women’s liberation and feminism. I was going to be my own person. No man would tell me what to do. This was a major conflict in my faith as I pondered Scripture about women. It would take years for me to come to an understanding of all this.

Even though we didn’t talk a lot about things, my dad always looked out for me. He provided what I needed and more. When I turned 16, I had a car to drive. It wasn’t always the same car though as my dad liked to buy and trade cars. I could go to school with one car and when I got home I could have a different one to drive as he had sold mine that day! I had 13 different cars between 16 and 21 when I got married. It made life interesting for sure!

After owning our gas station, Dad worked in a few different jobs. He drove a fuel oil route and he worked in another gas station. He hurt his back and didn’t work for a time, also. Yet Dad didn’t retire for years. He loved being out with people and so continued to work as a security guard at our local hospital part time. He even received an award for his contributions there. He genuinely cared for people.

Even though Dad always had a strong personality, he mellowed as he aged and Mom stood up for herself more, too. She had the gentlest spirit of anyone I ever knew. She could diffuse a situation with the most unexpected humor. Dad courted her more as they aged, too. He bought her flowers, took her places she wanted to go, and bought her jewelry. He even gave her a diamond ring because he said he had not done that before.

My dad wasn’t known for apologizing. I only remember once when he apologized to me. It was later in my marriage when my husband and I were planning to adopt. My dad was not for it. He could not comprehend bringing children into our family from a different culture, country, or race. He told us to never speak of it to him. We continued on our mission to adopt, but we didn’t speak of it again until we had pictures of the two girls we were going to adopt.  We knew his love for children would be what changed his mind. Or so we hoped. We went over to their house and told them we were going to speak to them about adoption and hoped they would listen one more time. But we had an unfair advantage. We had a picture. It was easy to reject an idea, but not real children. Neither said much about it, but they listened. A few days later, my parents came to our house and Dad said he had something to say. We waited, unsure of what it might be. He told us after we left their house, he had prayed about what we had said. He told us God had answered in more than one way. Dad had turned on the TV and the sermon the evangelist preached was on how we are all adopted into God’s family and how we are to care for the widows and orphans. Then he went to work and tried to garner sympathy from a co-worker who only could say how good and right it was for families to adopt.  He heard that message over and over until he knew it was God speaking to him. And then he said, “I need to apologize for my wrong attitude about adoption. If God is telling you to do this, you do it with my blessing.” I was stunned. In the past, my dad would often give me a gift or money when he felt he had wronged me. He had never said the words. Later after our Guatemalan daughters joined our family, he loved them very well. One of them claims today she was his favorite. She says he loved her more than me. I can rejoice in that because I know the whole story! In fact, it makes me smile!

My dad was great at being a grandpa. He always had gum and tootsie rolls in his pocket for the kids. He played games with the kids and they always won quarters from him. He brought doughnuts over often and schoolwork would cease for grandpa time. He also made them work though.  He would come over and just start weeding the garden or picking tomatoes or beans. The kids would go help just to be with him. My parents were always willing to have the grandkids over at their house and enjoyed being with them. They were willing sitters. When they began to age and needed care, my children were willing to help them and visit them because of all the good memories they had shared with them.

When dad’s health was failing and he had a bout of cancer, I spent much time taking him to Dr. appointments and to radiation therapy. We spent lots of hours in the car together. What blessed times we had! We talked, joked, and sang old hymns together. I am so glad I had those special times with him. Any healing from past hurts was reconciled in those bonding times. I will never regret all the time I spent with him or any of my parents or in-laws.

There was so much more to my dad, too. He was always willing to borrow money to others if he had it. He opened our home to many. He gave jobs to different people. He was generous. He had a great sense of humor. He was willing to help out. When we were building our house, he would do whatever was needed that he could do. Some of the jobs were not too great, but he did them.

My dad loved giving gifts. At Christmas, we all got money. But then he would make up family baskets with Tide, toilet paper, Kleenex, paper towels, coffee, and other practical things. He had so much fun collecting all of it for each family.

The greatest gift he gave me though was that he loved God and His Word. He talked about it and it was real to him. He wasn’t afraid of dying because he knew where he was going. He knew Heaven was real. His last night on earth was spent at the hospital and with all of us around him. He was smiling and laughing with us, telling us jokes to put us at ease. We had been told he didn’t have long- his heart was giving out. He never sounded like a man with a death sentence, but rather a man who loved life and his family and that every moment counted. The next morning after a bath, he went into a coma and we all gathered around him again. Before noon, he joined Jesus for a heavenly banquet.

I loved my dad. We didn’t have a perfect relationship. It wasn’t always good. But I knew he loved me and he cared for me in lots of different ways. He was a good man. Many respected him and cared about him. He was well liked by many. I believe when he entered Heaven that God said to him, “Well done, good and faithful servant.” He served his family well and the people around him, too. I am glad he was my dad.