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My father gave me a gift he didn’t mean to.
My father was the son of a coal miner. His father emigrated from Prussia, settled in Morrell, Pennsylvania, just outside Connellsville, and raised a family. They were devout Lutherans. They were poor, but at least they weren’t (Irish!) Catholics.
My father graduated from high school during the Depression. He rode boxcars from Connellsville through Baltimore and into the South looking for work. He was hired by a textile company because they had a baseball team in the industrial league, and my dad could hit a ball a country mile.
A certain Georgia peach liked his swing. They married and moved to Youngstown, Ohio. He got a job as a brakeman with the P&LE Railroad.
And then his life changed.
He became a born-again Christian, a fundamentalist. And just like that, the Bible became everything to him.
My father believed that the Bible is the infallible, inerrant Word of God. He rose every morning before the sun and read the Bible studiously for an hour before taking a bus to work. He carried a compact version of the Bible in his shirt pocket. He read the Bible before bedtime.
Fundamentalism changed his thinking but not his character. He remained kind, honest, industrious, humorous. He remained a slugger. Everywhere I went as a kid, people told me what a great baseball player he was. He strove to be the best—at baseball and at Bible study.
My father taught me to revere the Bible. And I did—for a long time. But he had unwittingly taught me a few other things. Read. Study. Learn. Ask questions.
And so I did.
For the past 40 years I’ve gotten up before sunrise to read. I’ve read hundreds of books. I’ve studied. I’ve learned. I’ve asked questions.
And now I’m writing my own book: Putting the Bible in Its Place: Off the Pedestal. Out of the Trashcan. Back on the Table. Or, how an anthology of assorted Jewish writings became the Word of God and why it isn’t.
My dad would not approve. But I think he would understand and perhaps be proud. After all, he gave me a love of reading, studying, and learning. And for that I am grateful.
What gift did your father give you? Leave your answer below. Return later to see the catalog of gifts from our fathers.
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See Paula’s photo on the home page. Posted June 2, 2024.
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Dad was a 1st gen American. Spoke Czech and English. Loved to fish. Read. Learn. Was a forester out of Syracuse U. Knew and loved the earth, trees, forests, insects. Knew the Latin names for those bugs. and plants. A moral and kind man. Everyone treated the same, fairly. His family did not get any special breaks. So I say I took his sense of fairness to heart or try to. and I love to wander the woods and fish. Thanks Dad. Btw- your book title is intriguing! Looking forward to it.
My father gave me a work ethic, sense of worldliness, joie de vivre, and love of singing. He also taught me compassion and to love my neighbor by example.Thank you, Randy, for making me reflect more deeply today.
My father grew up the 7th of 11 children in a tiny town (North Bend, Wisconsin) during the Great Depression. The first in his family to go to college… graduating when I was in high school, on the GI Bill. He gave me many gifts. His wit & humor, his perspective on people, places and events. “ I complained because I had no shoes, until I met a man who had no feet.” His love of learning, of reading, of curiosity. He made learning fun. He made work fun. He was a clear-the-floor great dancer (so was mom… that’s how they met). He knew the stars & constellations by name & navigated to far off lands, bringing home gifts & stories of how others lived. But the greatest gift of all was his love … in sacrifices that he willingly made so that we could be responsible, kind, strong, gentle people in a free democracy – living gently on the earth, living simply that others may simply live. He’s buried at Arlington National Cemetery, along with my mother. That’s what he wanted. Rest in Peace, dad. It’s Father’s Day. Thank you…
Beautiful, Ardyth. Thank you.
When will book be available?
Thanks as ever for this loving tribute to your Dad. I can’t wait to read your book. I wish I’d known my Dad when he was a jazz drummer in a little Mississippi River town before his yearning to perform took him to the pulpit where he took on the strait jacket of theology without liberation. He and my Mom opened the doors to my liberation by teaching me to pray and read the Bible every day. They taught me that my spiritual experience was my own, not to be dictated or nullified by any other human. My Dad born to a mixed race family of poor people taught and reinforced, our family was always on the side of the underdog…and I still am.
Independence, the importance of listening to the beat of my own drum and the love of nature. He showed me how to plant my own garden and he taught me how to read the changes of weather in the sky and to respect and appreciate the beautiful of Mother Nature’s power. I almost forgot!! My father taught me how to put a wiggly worm on the hook of my fishing pole! That taught me perseverance and patients!
My dad taught me how to keep a baseball scorecard. And that the two greatest hitters he ever saw were Ted Williams and Josh Gibson.
Oh yeah. He also sang “Joe Hill” to put me to sleep every night.
My Dad worked sports shows with Ted Williams. “Save this signed picture, Susie”. “Someday it will be worth something.”
Lloyd F. gave me the ability to appreciate the absurd, to view people in a kindly manner, to understand that nature is the universe, and the Bible is filled with fairy tales.
Yes – I am interested in what you write and meant to be shared. You have (always) given me something to take away and ponder. I thank you for that ..
My father died 44 years ago when I was 36. This is part of the eulogy that I gave at his funeral: “The highest compliment that I believe you can give a person is to ask for their advice and trust their judgment. That was the essence of this man. He had good judgment and he gave sound advice. Sometimes even when you didn’t ask for it, but always when you needed it.
One of the greatest blessings of my life was to have known him as a counselor and friend beyond my childhood years. From seemingly monumental disappointments or indecisions I would come and he would stop what he was doing and put it all in perspective. He had a strong set of personal values which he transmitted to his sons by the only effective means, example.
Integrity, he used to say, was all you really had, so take care not to compromise it.