14 thoughts on “Happy Father’s Day! 6-16-13”

  1. Happy Father’s Day to all the good men on this blog. I appreciate the wisdom each of you has shared. Father figures don’t always have to be your father. I have learned something from all of you.

    Like

    Reply

  2. Favorite memory of my father? Really? After five years of listening to me talk about him and this week of listening to me miss him, you still want a favorite memory?
    How about just the fact that I was the only child to him, and always knew he loved me. When he wasn’t at work, he couldn’t make a move without me in his shadow. I have lots of great memories, some funny, some sad, and some beyond explanation.

    Like

    Reply

  3. Weekday evenings, Saturday mornings and Sunday afternoons – Our mother taught, worked and played with us during the day, but at the end of the day, when we heard the front door open, a cry of “Daddy’s home” would go up and we all ran to greet him. After greeting my mother (with a kiss), he would take us each for a piggyback ride or a spin, until we got too big to lift.

    Then, when we sat down to supper and listened to the news, he would discuss geography and history, pointing to the large map on our dining room wall. After supper, as we cleared and the eldest washed and the younger ones dried the dishes, he would read to us classic children’s books. Sometimes, at really exciting parts, he would go on long after we finished the dishes as we sat around the table and listened breathlessly.

    After the dishes were finished, he would lead us in Bible reading and prayer and then kiss us good night before Mom took us up to bed. We often went to sleep to the sound of his hammer or saw, as he worked on the house he had designed and built.

    On Saturday mornings, he woke us up with some energetic piece of classical music and then we worked together throughout the day with to the accompaniment of more pieces. On Sunday after church and lunch, he often took us for long walks in the woods. He would break paths for us through the bush and carry the younger ones as we got tired, all the while talking about the nature around us. In winter time, he would clear the snow from the ice in the swamp and taught us each to skate.

    We still go for long walks or skates with him, and have discussions about geography, history and world events, but his eyes were damaged by the after effects of a serious car accident and he has never been able to read as confidently again. I became the reader, and it was an honour to when he listened as intently to me I used to listen to him. But often, instead of reading, I played music for him, and when I prepared to come here, he asked me to record some of my music, so he could play it when I was away.

    My father did all those things for us without ever seeming to think about it – he was and is a good father, not because he ever read books on the subject; but simply because he loved us.

    Like

    Reply

  5. Chas, it was different then. I don’t think a one of my paternal grandfather’s children has a kind word to spare for him. My maternal grandfather was a kind-hearted weather beaten man. He never raised a hand to my mother and he only once took a switch to my legs…it was the same day he had a stroke so in my child’s mind he didn’t mean to do it.

    Like

    Reply

  6. Kim,it was different then. Life was a struggle for that generation. I mention some of the difficult times we had. Elvera’s family had it worse. They had eight children when her mother died on Dec. 7, 1941. Same day. Her oldest brother was already in the army. Next oldest would fight in the Pacific. Elvera was always grateful that he kept the family together. Kin wanted to divide the children up amongst themselves. A gesture of kindness.

    Like

    Reply

  7. My father’s family all had an “itchy” foot–they liked to travel. The best times with my father were traveling. He was a traveling salesman and was gone a lot during the week. My mom, a teacher, had summers and holidays off, so we’d often go “out on the road” with him while he called on customers and we sat in the back of the car reading, bickering or whatever.

    He was great taking us to places he thought were important–a month camping with us in Europe was a lesson in modern, medieval and military history across Germany and italy. He read a lot, encouraged me to read, listened to classical music every night when he was home and kept me on my toes verbally.

    Dad had a number of flaws I struggled to deal with over the years, but the Lord orchestrated a time of soul-searching and forgiveness in my heart that enabled me to really love him unconditionally the last difficult years of his life.

    I’m a lot more like my dad intellectually than my mother; we loved to tell stories, adored history and found common ground in music and movies. With my own children, that’s where I found them, too.

    My sister-in-law once said, “when he’s old, we should just pay a driver to drive him around town all day; that’s what he likes best, just riding and looking out the window.”

    We did that for him when his body gave out.

    It was the least we could do.

    Like

    Reply

  8. My fondest memory of my dad is the time when I was about 13. I was shopping with my parents and had tried on a beautiful fuchsia pink blouse with tiny black polka dots. I begged mom for that blouse, almost crying in the store. The answer was no. But that Christmas when I opened a present from my dad (the only one I ever got that didn’t say “from Mom & Dad”, just” from Dad”, I found out he had gone back and purchased the blouse, turned the bag inside out so I wouldn’t know and kept it hidden, wrapped it and gave it to me for Christmas.

    I also remember and appreciate his prayers for me and for my family now. That is something I want to do for my kids everyday.

    Like

    Reply

  10. Kare, I did that once. I’ve forgotten where it was, but Elvera was eyeing a purse. She was almost desparate to have it. If you know Elvera, you know she isn’t going to pay the full price for anything like a purse. So, she gave up and moved on.
    I later went back and bought it. I think it was a Christmas present.
    It was good for me, I knew what to buy. And she got her purse.
    She kept it for years.
    I had nothing to do with this, but today she was showing me a purse she got to go with something she has. But Polly loved it. She said, “That will go with anything!” She plans to do that.

    Like

    Reply

  11. Hmmm. I had one of those dad’s who was supposed to work and leave the children to the wife and their own growing up. He was a self employed logger who came to Idaho with a wife and a daughter and fifty cents so he put in a lot of time working. Two jobs to put himself through college and then raise the four children.
    But every Sunday, weather permitting, he took us to the tennis courts and when we were good enough at it, we got turns playing with him (we did not do church). For several summers, he took my brothers and me backpacking for a week. And on summer vacation, Christmas vacation, and Easter vacation, he would let us go to the woods with him. I did not see him most of the day, just wandered around the woods by myself, though we got together at lunch for an hour. I have very good memories of my dad. And he is still around, and wonders why we religious people believe and why God seems to be real when he sees us and what is happening here.

    Like

    Reply

  12. Isn’t it funny the good memories we have of our dad? I have always wanted my own Baby Girl to have the kind of relationship with her Da-dee that I had with my own. I think she is finally getting it. Too bad it is coming with a cost, but I still want her to have it. For all his faults George has been a good father since our divorce.

    Mr. P and I have had a good day.

    Like

    Reply

  13. My dad was also a somewhat distant father; he grew up on a farm as a hard worker in a large family, without a lot of time or attention from his parents; he was a hard worker but didn’t really understand intimacy. But I remember Mom and Dad playing tapes of Western love songs and looking at each other, and him bringing home carnations for Mom, and I know he loved her.

    But my own fondest memories of him mostly include the outdoors: family bike rides or hikes, especially the time Mom and Dad and the youngest three of us went to the Superstition Mountains. Mom and my younger siblings got tired and turned back, but Dad and I went all the way to the top. I remember him pointing out the constellations and telling us the names of trees, and I have a hunch that were he able to be with me for one day now, he and I could thoroughly enjoy taking a walk and telling each other what the flora and fauna is, and what is special about each thing we see. But he would be 96, and he died 29 years ago, so that is not to be.

    I also think of him when I eat watermelon. He’d watch until watermelon got down to the right price, which may have been four cents per pound (something like that). Once it got down to that price, he’d buy one a week for the rest of the summer. (The best place to shop for milk and a few other items was close to his workplace, on his way home, so portions of the shopping fell to him.) The first watermelon of the summer, he’d call out, “Guess what I got?” and everyone would be very happy, and we’d cut it and eat it. The second, same thing. But as the summer went by, everyone but me would start saying, “Oh, watermelon? No thanks!” He never stopped acting like it was a special treat, never stopped being surprised when the whole family didn’t share his eagerness. But he and I got larger slices as the summer went by and there were fewer people to share it with, and neither of us ever grew tired of it. Now, cantaloupe, I was with my siblings in enjoying the first few and then no longer being interested. . . .

    Like

    Reply

  14. Whenever I smell sawdust, I think of my dad. His hobby was woodworking and he was often in the basement or later in his garage shop making another piece of furniture. He also makes many decorative wood pieces for my mother to paint.

    He always sings around the house and many songs bring up that memory. “Oh, My Darling, Clementine”, “Just Because You Think You’re So Pretty…”; even some of the rock songs popular in my day may come out of his mouth randomly.

    He loves a good story and has a good sense of humor. He loves to talk and argue. He will sometimes play the devil’s advocate just to get someone going.

    Like

    Reply

Leave a comment