My Dad.

I’ve been thinking of all the changes he’s seen in his lifetime. It’s a completely different world today than the one he was born into, and yet, he’s navigated the changes amazingly well. He will read this blog on his I – PAD and might even share it on Facebook.

As a small child, my dad was blessedly unaware of the cares that weighed heavily on his parents as they labored to provide for their growing family. Instead he recalls the warm welcome and ample food of extended family when they went “a-visiting” on Sundays and of boyhood adventures swimming with friends in a nearby creek.

The tasks of tilling soil, planting seed and harvesting grain each in its proper season were part of his early formation, giving him a lifelong appreciation for the goodness of growing things. The urgency of storing as much food as possible for winter was taken for granted and I imagine no sentimentality in his childhood daily chores feeding cows and horses, milking cows, and mucking out stables. Still, I like to imagine there were moments when he gazed in wonder at the eyes of a cow he milked, or delighted in the soft downy feathers of baby chicks.

My dad was married at age 18 and signed on with the Marines a few years later. He looks back fondly on his nine years of military service. Active duty took him to Japan, California, Hawaii, North Carolina, and a short time in New Mexico. His years of service involved no armed conflicts, but the rigorous training he underwent combined with a deep faith in God to undergird the integrity with which he lives the Marine motto, “Semper Fidelis”.

I hope I never forget the twinkle in his blue eyes, and his unassuming way of listening quietly while others talk, chuckling now and then at something that strikes him funny. I also want to remember his understated complements to the cook when he’s enjoying a meal. “This is pretty good.” And the sincerity with which he thanks God when he prays.

An unimposing man of about five feet ten,, for the last forty or fifty years he’s sported a mustache and a beard. I can’t remember seeing him without a mustache, but there have been occasions when he’s shaved the beard entirely only to grow it out again.

My dad’s kind and gentle ways are exemplary. I’m pretty sure not one of my seven siblings has ever heard him swear, I know I certainly haven’t. Over the years he’s volunteered taking meals to seniors, helped in Sunday school and vacation Bible school programs and driving the infirm to doctor appointments. He’s also generous with his income, giving from the little he has to help those who lack food, housing or education.

Married to my mom for 67 years before her passing twelve years ago, my dad’s love for my mom shows in his quiet commentary on things he knows she’d enjoy, in his remembrances of their early years together, and in his wistful desire to join her in Heaven. Together they raised eight children who gave them 35 grandchildren and at least 46 great-grandchildren. (My dad probably knows the exact number and how many are on the way.)

This blog is way too late for Father’s Day, but I wanted to share it anyway. I’m so grateful for my dad.