The responses to last Sunday’s post (Gifts from Our Fathers) were not as many as those to my Mother’s Day post (Mama Said). Forty-two for moms; 24 for dads, which was more than I expected actually.
After all, for nine months moms nestle us in their bodies, lug us hither and yon, up and down stairs, and then as a reward undergo excruciating childbirth, while dads…well, dads assist by getting out of the way (pace, pace, bite finger nails, pace, pace) or by getting up close (“breathe, breathe, more ice chips, breathe, breathe”).
But whatever dads do related to childbirth, it’s not EXCRUCIATING. Period.
Still, our fathers play a critical role in nurturing us as your tributes revealed. Here’s a sampler: He taught me self reliance. He gave me a tire gauge and showed me how to change a tire. He taught me to identify birds, observe the stars, read poetry, love baseball. He gave me two wonderful siblings and an amazing mother.
Of course, none said all they could have said. And most of you said nothing. (If you didn’t, you can leave a comment today.)
Since this is my blog, I get to tell you one more gift from my father.
My dad took the bus to work. The bus stop was between our house and my grade school.
One day when I was in first grade, I was heading home. I didn’t know my dad was on the bus approaching the stop. My dad saw me running from a school mate who caught me and pushed me down. As my father stepped off the bus, the bully was about to pummel me. My father stepped in. The bully fled.
As we walked toward home he said: Never run from a bully. Stand and fight. Even if you’re whipped, it’s better than running away.
I hung my head in shame. He took my hand. After a few steps, he said. But if you’re going to run, run like this.
And just like that he bolted up the street, springing off his toes while swinging his bent arms back and forth, fast and furiously. Man, was he fast! (He was known to have stolen second base many a time in his day.)
I’ve never run from a fight since.
But if I have to, I know how.
_______________________
See Paula’s photo (“Beauties of Spring”) on the home page. Posted June 19
As I was growing up and started to think I heard my father tell my older brother, who was already man size,”remember your butt is not so high that it can’t be kicked.” It taught me to keep quiet and not argue in my youth. However, I think I out grew that lesson. Still remember it though.
What an amazing “in the moment “ response. You were lucky to have him. My fabulous, handsome father worked all the time. Work ( on the farm we also owned) was our family recreation. He didn’t tell me lessons- he showed me lessons. I guess like yours did
My dad taught me the importance of truth and fairness. We got no special passes ‘cause we were his daughters. Even when we could see other dad’s using their positions to give their families a boost. He refused. He also knew how to hold his tongue – if you can’t say anything nice about someone….. But he did have a great sense of timing and knowing his audience -so one time he leaned over to a woman at a party and told her “ Peg you look positively scrofulous tonight.” Oh she giggled. “thank you.“ My poor mom was fit to be tied. Another time. walking back from dinner somewhere in Spain he mortified us by pulling a stunt walking along behind his wife and two daughters and calling like a gorilla. The locals thought it was a hoot, young daughters not do much. Miss both parents every day.
Sometimes appreciation for one’s father comes from hindsight despite any rough times. Mark Twain’s comment is helpful: “When I was a boy of fourteen, my father was so ignorant I could hardly stand to have the old man around. But when I got to be twenty-one, I was astonished at how much he learned in seven years.”
I didn’t comment last week because my two sons were visiting from California. Last Sunday I was the happy recipient the best Father’s Day of my fathering life. We, of course, talked about Dad, their Grandpa.
Dad was complex, and at the same time, a fellow who enjoyed the simple pleasures of life. Though he was a deacon in his church at least twice, WORK was his true religion. He was a shift supervisor at a book publishing plant and also had his own residential construction business. He was compassionate and fair, but also tough on me. Being his son wasn’t a piece of cake, but he knew how brutal life could be and he wanted me to be “tough enough.” In retrospect, I can honestly say, “The best parts of myself are because of him. The rest of me is of my own doing.” He still walks with me, in spite of the fact that he’s been gone for nearly 20 years. “Time flies when you’re having fun,” he often commented. “Even when you’re not.”
Thank you for sharing the precious memory about your dad stepping in between you and the bully. I have a similar story. When I was in Junior High, around the 8th or 9th grade, the principal dismissed me and some of my classmates a few hours early from school. We were told we were not in trouble and that our parents would talk to us about it. I walked home and took my usual stop at the 7-11 across the street for a slurpee. My dad was there. I got my slurpee and hopped in the truck. Dad told me a note written by a well known bully classmate was found and turned in to the principal’s office. The note was a “hit list” of several girls to beat up. I was one of them. I was terrified. We talked about bullying and he taught me how to block myself or run if a bully were to come after me. I am thankful he was there for me that day and for all that he taught me. Even though he has passed, I keep him with me.
My granddaughter died in her sleep on Father’s Day, or in the wee hours of the morning. Doesn’t matter. Her father is shattered. He watched over her so carefully for 14 years from weeks in the neonatal unit through recent open heart surgery. They were pals.
I see him putting aside his grief to comfort his 3 grown sons who are devastated, his wife, daughters-in-law , in-laws, brother and parents.
Some of you will remember Andy.
This happy, outgoing, loving young girl was embraced by the whole community here in Des Moines.
Father’s Day will never be quite the same.
I had to keep reading your comment. What we endure as humans is beyond comprehension. Our dear broken hearts. My you find the light your grand daughter made in your every day life.
Great story
Great lesson
Great column
My dad taught me a lot of the things that dads in those days only taught to their boys, like how to hit a nail properly and build things and fix things around the house. My mother often complained because I was more interested in building things with dad, than with cooking and sewing and cleaning. I still am!
Thank you for your story, and for inviting more great stories about fathers… I loved every one of them, and since I felt complete last week, I simply wanted to hear others’. Awesome… just wanted you to know!💓🙏🏼
Oh – I smiled and my eyes watered with the JOY of running and swinging his arms as an example of HOW … Thank you.