I usually pre-post for important occasions if I know I'm going to be gone for them - since my photos are usually not on other computers - and I never take "my" computer with me. But I forgot about Father's Day, so I will have to paint a picture in words instead!
My dad was not a perfect man. He had foibles, idiosyncracies, prejudices, and some quirky habits. He told the same stories over and over again. If you served him rice, he'd say, "Do I look Chinese?" He chafed at change. He railed against growing old and less capable.
Having 12 children, his parenting years spread over years and seasons and habits and social changes. As an older child, I knew one dad that my younger siblings really never knew. Often I reflect that I'm really fortunate to have known the dad I did know
I am here with Matt, Eliza and family, and Matt is certainly a "hands-on" dad - as most dads are these days. But there were years when dads went to work, came home and read the paper, ate dinner with the family, and often didn't do a lot of interacting with their children on the day-to-day aspects of life. They were good dads. They loved and provided for their children. They just followed a different pattern - a pattern society dictated.
When society was dictating that pattern, my dad was following his own pattern. He was definitely "hands-on!" He braided my hair, ironed our dresses, made dinner, baked cakes (usually a yellow cake with duck eggs from the Embertsons!), helped with homework, drove us to school and seminary, took us to church - often when my mom was home with a new baby.
Speaking of babies, he had the touch. He walked the floor with colicky babies, got up with sick children, and knew how to change diapers - back in the days of cloth diapers too! I have posted before about the time he and Mom came to my house when I was sick and pregnant with Hannah. Eliza had grabbed a hot curling iron and burned her hand. She was inconsolable. Dad and Mom showed up. Dad took Eliza in his arms and went walking with her - around the block I suppose. When they returned, her hand had a blister, but she was smiling. For all the times he was impatient - and there were many - he never seemed to be impatient with small children and babies.
His own mother died when he was a senior in high school. He had a close relationship with her, and in her last years, I'm pretty sure she spoke with him about caring for his younger brothers when she was gone. He did just that. He made sure they had new clothes when school started. He made sure they had Christmas and birthday presents. And he made sure the Easter bunny came to their house. He didn't get a lot of credit for it, but that didn't seem to matter to him. What mattered was honoring his mother's wishes.
I recall working on a science project. I needed to make a poster about the life cycle of a bee. You need to understand that when we did projects, there were no computers for printing out graphics, no
Michaels to go to for supplies - you had to make do. Dad would always do the printing for me. For a man who had abysmal handwriting, he could print beautifully on a poster board. He would study out the information in the
World Book Encyclopedia - the be all and end all of our data collecting - and help me synthesize it. I can still see that night around the dining room table. I can still see the poster in my mind's eye. It's a memory that's probably better than a photograph anyway!
Dad patiently taught me to drive. Patiently taught me to drive stick shift a few years later. Patiently waited outside seminary, Mutual, and stake dances to give us rides home. Patiently sat with me when I woke up wheezing and couldn't breathe, counting slowly until my breathing became regular once more. Patiently drove me to my summer jobs and picked me up too - bringing me back to the shop to wait for him until his day was finished.
And Dad shared his refrigerated
Snicker bars with me too!
I am my father's daughter and repeat the same stories often. But on Father's Day, the stories bear repeating. My own children have a different dad. He has different strengths. The stories of his fatherhood are different. But I know they have them - I have heard them tell them often. I'm glad they have them and tell them, because he is a great dad too!
If you're a dad reading this, be sure to leave stories for your children to tell.
To everyone else, be sure to remember and tell the stories of
your dad!!
Happy Father's Day to all the dads out there!!
