Earnest Talks

I remember the dad of my childhood. Our life revolved around his work schedule. When he was working the day shift we always ate dinner (supper to some of you) at 4:30 when he got home. When he was working nights I had to be quiet while he slept during the day. That was never easy. When he worked what they called the “swing shift” I was generally confused about when he would be home or working.

I think back and believe he was not a very involved father. However, he took very good care of all of us and managed to keep us fed and clothed even when he was not working. As a union man in the steel industry it was not unusual for him to be on strike. We never played ball together or shared boy scouts or anything like that. We did fish and hunt, though, and those times remain in my memory as some of the greatest times of my life with him.

I never doubted that he loved me. I never really asked, though, because we weren’t a very demonstrative family when I was young. I don’t remember being hugged or kissed by him until I was an adult. I do remember seeing the love in his eyes, though. He had the sweetest, most gentle eyes I’ve ever known. His hands and his smell also stick in my mind. I loved looking at those hands that had worked so hard. I always wanted my hands to look like his, and they do. They are smaller, but are definitely his hands.

He had a garden almost every year. There were many times when a significant portion of our food came from his gardens. He grew it and mom preserved it. We had “fresh” vegetables the year around. I hated the gardens. I loved the food, but hated the gardens. He would give me a hoe and say “weed!” Have you ever hoed (I think that’s a word) in the heat for hours? Well, actually, neither have I. I usually found a way to play around and let the weeds grow. That is still the story of me and gardens. Plant ‘em and leave ‘em alone. I don’t get many vegetables. Maybe a tomato or two at best.

I remember when I was thirteen and had taken a paper route just long enough to buy myself a shotgun. When we hunted in the winter he didn’t seem to have any nerves in his feet. He could stand still in the same place for such a long time in the snow. I would be jumping around trying to keep the blood flowing and he would tell me to stand still and be quiet. One day we had been standing in the snow for about twenty minutes when my moving around scared a rabbit out of a bush right next to me. It had been there all along and finally ran. As it topped the hill next to me I shot at it. Well, dad was really upset. He thought I just wanted to shoot the new gun – which I did. I went over the hill hoping to find that rabbit and there it was. Dad just smiled and walked on. He could say so much with his face.

As he aged he became more emotional. He regularly said he loved me and would hug me when I arrived and when I left on visits. He stayed mobile until the day he broke his hip and then began spiraling down. Finally, I came home to help move him into an assisted living center.

On the last night I was there I was in his room and helped him into bed. He looked at me and said “son, I don’t think I can stay here for six months.” Although my sister, brother and I knew better, we had told him he would be there that long to give him time to heal. I hugged and kissed him goodbye and got into my car to drive home to Texas. I drove all night and when I got home went straight to bed. When I woke there were several messages from my (not really evil) sister. Dad had died in his sleep the night I left. He was 96 years old. I can still feel the kiss he gave me on my cheek the last time I saw him alive.

I know he and mom are together again. I know they loved each other. I also know that part of the reason they were married so long was that he was the gentlest man I ever knew. As much as they seemed to not get along sometimes, his face always softened when he talked about her. She knew his gentleness, too. I’m sure of that.

I love you dad and miss you terribly. Happy father’s day. You were and are the best.