As some of you may know today, February 24, is my dad's birthday. It suddenly hit me today that he's been gone now for 20 years. It feels like a lifetime. My oldest daughter was only three and my second daughter was only 6 months old when he died. Daughter #3 wasn't even born yet. His 82 years were full, rich with adventures, friends and family.
Many times I wish my daughters could have known him as a grandfather and friend. But they didn't and that can never be changed. Instead we can remember him through stories, photos, and passing on memories of joys experienced with him. Even this little blog can be a tribute to the loving father I knew for but a fraction of my life.
While he was not outwardly a man of faith, and I don't pretend to know the man's heart, he possessed faith - faith in people and circumstances. He had that "never give up" attitude so characteristic of his generation and those who lived through The Great Depression. I learned determination, perseverence, hard work, loyalty, and optimism from him. And, probably a host of other things.
I inherited my love of learning and reading from him as well. It always amazed me that the man, the farmer, who never went to college was a voracious reader. His library included a daily diet of The Wall Street Journal and The Kansas City Star. Then it expanded to every known farm magazine of the day - the Missouri Ruralist, Successful Farming, Farm Journal - and National Geographic and Arizona Highways. He also read every book he could on the Civil War and World War II.
He was a complicated man in the sense that he was a deep thinker, but his tastes were simple so indicative of the hill-top farmhouse where he was born along with ten other children. I can't remember him ever coveting a new car or the latest gadget. His whole focus was always to provide for my mom and I no matter the personal cost. Christmas mornings saw him unceremoniously opening present after present from my mom who thought lavish gifts could solve the world's problems. It always took a lot of persuasion to get him to participate in the annual ritual of receiving new clothes he didn't really need or want. Poor mom, she was well meaning and gifting was one of her love languages--I'm just sure of it. LOL
So, Day 3 this Lent has been an exercise in memories--recounting where I've come from, who shaped my early days, life lessons learned and applied. Thanks Dad - I'm a better person for knowing you, for being loved by you. Happy Birthday!
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