A Tribute to My Father

With Father’s Day fast approaching, many of us turn our thoughts to the man who was our father.  If you are lucky enough to still have him around, count yourself blessed.  I no longer have mine living on this earth.  Nor do my sons.  They lost their father when they were in their thirties.  It really is a loss one does not get over easily.

My father was born in 1920 in southwest Oklahoma.  He was the youngest son of eight children, the next to the youngest child.  He was a product of the Great Depression and the Dust Bowl.  And he was a member of the Greatest Generation, the ones who fought in and won World War Two.  He was in the Communication Corps in the Army and was a certified sharpshooter.  He never talked about that and what that might have meant.  But he taught me how to shoot a gun before I could even hold it up by myself.  And he was a stickler for gun safety.  That was paramount.  ‘Never, ever point a gun at someone, even in jest.’  That was the mantra. This is a lesson I have never forgotten and have taught to my own children.

I was an only child for a while and I got my father’s full attention.  I learned how to drive all kinds of vehicles from a very early age because we lived in the country and on a farm.  (Rules were much laxer then, to be sure.)  I learned to maneuver on ice by him taking me out on deserted roads and letting me get the feel of driving on slick surfaces.  He taught me to ride a horse early in life and he must have done a good job because I have fallen off only once and I have never been bucked off!  I count that as a good thing!

Daddy had a class about him that had nothing to do with money.  It came from being raised right.  His personal honor and integrity have never been surpassed by anyone that I know!  He had an easy laugh and knew how to have fun, but could put you in your place in an instant with one stern look.  My brother, sister, and I all knew it.  He didn’t have to spank us;  that look was enough.  If we stepped over the line far enough to get ‘the talk’, we usually ended up in tears.  That quiet, low voice telling us how disappointed he was with our behavior, that we knew better, and that he knew we would not exhibit said behavior again.  Quiet, calm, loving training.  That is what he provided as a father.  And I adored him for it.

He was the perfect father for me.  As a child, I believed he could do no wrong.  As an adult, seeing him through adult eyes, I know he was only human with all the insecurities that entails.  I know many times he felt like a failure.  Yet, I believe he was the best father he could possibly have been.

It was from him that I learned compassion.  I learned early on that one must never take advantage of anyone less fortunate.  ‘Unfortunate’ could mean a lot of things:  intellect, financial, physical, emotional, anything that made the playing field uneven.  He believed children, in particular, must be protected and given every opportunity to thrive.  My strong religious values came from my father.  My belief in equal rights came from him.  He taught me that I could be or do anything I set my mind to, if I was willing to do what had to be done and to work hard enough for it.  He also taught me that sometimes the outcome is not worth the price and when to cut my losses and walk away.  He was the one who showed me what a man was supposed to be, how he was expected to behave, and how he should treat his wife and children.  My expectations have always been high because of him.

He believed in higher education and we knew always that we were college-bound.  He loved to read and would consume anything, but he really enjoyed Louis L’amour westerns.   He had infinite patience with me while helping with my math homework.  He could do it in his head;  I could barely do it on paper.  Yet, he never made me feel stupid or inadequate.

One of my greatest joys as a child was having my father read or recite poetry to me.  He had several favorites that also became mine.  It was always very comforting to lean my head on his chest as he read, hearing his voice vibrating against my ear.  I would usually go to sleep right there.

I still miss my father.  He was my rock, my moral compass, and the one I always went to for advice.  There have been many times since his death that I have longed to hear his quiet instruction.  Then I pause and realize that I already know the answers to my questions.  I’m his child.  I lived with him for twenty years and hung on his every word.  I know what he would tell me.

My children spent a lot of time with their Pappa.  They both have many of his qualities, for which I am thankful.  I see it sometimes in a simple gesture, made unawares, or hear it in patient instruction to a child, or, most especially, in their humor.  That makes me smile because I know some of my father lives on in them too!

Celebrate your father this Father’s Day.  And help him enjoy his day.