What my dad knew
Several years ago when we were visiting my mom and dad, and after a long conversation with her grandpa, my daughter said to me "Your dad is underrated". I knew exactly what she meant and as the years go by after his death - it will be 7 years on the 24th - I realize more and more just how deep he was. He didn't go to college but he was smarter than many people who did. He didn't go to church (except on Christmas Eve) but was more spiritual than many who go every Sunday. He didn't have much money but gave what he had. He loved the outdoors and being in the woods.
My dad didn't say very much and sometimes one wondered if he was ever going to answer a question or make a comment. Some may have thought that he was a little "slow" but the truth is, he was a thinker and didn't always come up with a fast answer. He was also a writer and I wish he had saved more of the things he wrote about growing up and his thoughts on society. He submitted a poem for publication and I found the rejection letter but not the poem. He remembered poems like "The Village Blacksmith" and "The midnight ride of Paul Revere" and taught them to me. I can still recite the Village Blacksmith, which reminds me of my dad:
The Village Blacksmith (Henry Wadsworth Longellow)
As a child, my dad learned about the mean people in the world and not to trust anyone who would be mean to animals. A school bus driver ran over his pet dog on purpose when it came to meet him after school. Maybe this is why he loved all animals and we were never without a pet - usually too many. He knew that dogs were special and needed people, something as a kid I didn't appreciate because I was too busy I guess. The dog we had through most all of my childhood was named simply "puppy". Puppy slept in my dad's room and I can still hear him talking quietly to this old black cocker spaniel mix. "Puppy likes me" he would say. "Puppy is a good boy". He was heartbroken when puppy died my first year in college but he knew that while you can't replace the dog, you can replace the love and having that love is worth the pain of loosing it. He went on to have at least a few more dogs - some were just guests who came by every day to see him. His last pet though, was a cat named "kitty" who belonged to someone else in town who didn't take care of her so my dad adopted her. Dad worried about Kitty and anyone who came into the house was greeted with "Don't let kitty out". Kitty has outlived my dad and my mom. When my dad was alive she slept with him and waited every morning by his door until he got up. When the hospice nurse came to bathe him, Kitty sat outside the bathroom door. She became my mom's cat after dad died and now she has outlived both of them. We aren't sure how old she is.
My dad knew about war - he had been in Germany in World War II. When we were younger we sat outside on summer nights, watching bats and fireflies and asked him questions such as "did you ever kill anyone?" I realize now, that was a dumb thing to ask but we were kids and didn't know any better. His answer was simply "It was either kill or be killed". As he got older though, the stories became more vivid and hard to listen to. But he needed to tell them. There were no diagnoses of Post traumatic Stress Syndrome and no help for the young guys who made it home from that war. My dad knew what it was like to hold one of his buddies in his arms, while the wounded friend looked at him and said "I'm not going to die, am I, Oj?" My dad knew he was going to die but just held him. He knew he was lucky to come back. It's mind boggling to me to think of what would be if he didn't come back? The world would be changed a lot because of all of his descendants that would not be here. The world changes when a new baby enters it and when a person leaves it, no matter the age. My dad knew about death and he knew life was precious - for animals and people.
My dad knew old people had worth and were still young inside, and he went out of his way to make them feel important and still useful. He made me visit his old friends and listen to their stories. When I was home for a visit we would always have to visit one lady who he says saved my life when I was a baby by diagnosing me with anemia which resulted in me needing blood transfusions. He visited people in the nursing home and brought them newspapers on Sunday. He brought cherries and apples to older ladies in town and was rewarded with pies. He passed the appreciation of the elderly on to my sister and I.
My dad was not perfect, as dads never are, but we don't usually realize that till we grow up. He was an alcoholic and didn't make life easy for my mom. He said he was going to disown me for making him move from their old house to the trailer. He later apologized and explained to me how hard it is on older people. You have to keep giving up things that are important to you. He had a hard time having to give up chopping wood and keeping the fires going and was always perplexed, I think, on how a furnace worked. He never in his life had one until he moved.
My dad knew when his own fire was going out. Just before he died, he called an older lady he knew and used to visit, (she was in her 90's then) and said "goodbye" to her. I did not know this until she told me at his funeral.
This song, written by Tom T. Hall reminds me of my dad:
How old do you think I am he said I said well I didn't know
He said I turned sixty five about eleven months ago
I was sittin' in Miami pourin' blended whiskey down
When this old grey black gentleman was cleanin' up the lounge
There wasn't anyone around 'cept this old man and me
The guy who ran the bar was watching Ironsides on TV
Uninvited he sat down and opened up his mind
On old dogs and children and watermelon wine
Ever had a drink of watermelon wine he asked
He told me all about it though I didn't answer back
Ain't but three things in this world that's worth a solitary dime
But old dogs and children and watermelon wine
He said women think about theyselves when menfolk ain't around
And friends are hard to find when they discover that you're down
He said I tried it all when I was young and in my natural prime
Now it's old dogs and children and watermelon wine
Old dogs care about you even when you make mistakes
God bless little children while they're still too young to hate
When he moved away I found my pen and copied down that line
'Bout old dogs and children and watermelon wine
I had to catch a plane up to Atlanta that next day
As I left for my room I saw him pickin' up my change
That night I dreamed in peaceful sleep of shady summertime
Of old dogs and children and watermelon wine
Growing up, we never ever went on a vacation. We didn't have a nice house and never had a real bathtub. My mom threw a coffee pot at my dad when he came home drunk one time and he probably deserved it. Funny though, these sort of things aren't what I remember the most. What I remember is the wisdom of my dad and the things that he and my mom gave us that weren't things. Hopefully I can pay it forward.
My dad didn't say very much and sometimes one wondered if he was ever going to answer a question or make a comment. Some may have thought that he was a little "slow" but the truth is, he was a thinker and didn't always come up with a fast answer. He was also a writer and I wish he had saved more of the things he wrote about growing up and his thoughts on society. He submitted a poem for publication and I found the rejection letter but not the poem. He remembered poems like "The Village Blacksmith" and "The midnight ride of Paul Revere" and taught them to me. I can still recite the Village Blacksmith, which reminds me of my dad:
The Village Blacksmith (Henry Wadsworth Longellow)
Under a spreading chestnut-tree
The village smithy stands;
The smith, a mighty man is he,
With large and sinewy hands;
And the muscles of his brawny arms
Are strong as iron bands.
His hair is crisp, and black, and long,
His face is like the tan;
His brow is wet with honest sweat,
He earns whate'er he can,
And looks the whole world in the face,
For he owes not any man.
Week in, week out, from morn till night,
You can hear his bellows blow;
You can hear him swing his heavy sledge,
With measured beat and slow,
Like a sexton ringing the village bell,
When the evening sun is low.
And children coming home from school
Look in at the open door;
They love to see the flaming forge,
And bear the bellows roar,
And catch the burning sparks that fly
Like chaff from a threshing-floor.
He goes on Sunday to the church,
And sits among his boys;
He hears the parson pray and preach,
He hears his daughter's voice,
Singing in the village choir,
And it makes his heart rejoice.
It sounds to him like her mother's voice,
Singing in Paradise!
He needs must think of her once more,
How in the grave she lies;
And with his hard, rough hand he wipes
A tear out of his eyes.
Toiling,--rejoicing,--sorrowing,
Onward through life he goes;
Each morning sees some task begin,
Each evening sees it close
Something attempted, something done,
Has earned a night's repose.
Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy friend,
For the lesson thou hast taught!
Thus at the flaming forge of life
Our fortunes must be wrought;
Thus on its sounding anvil shaped
Each burning deed and thought.
The village smithy stands;
The smith, a mighty man is he,
With large and sinewy hands;
And the muscles of his brawny arms
Are strong as iron bands.
His hair is crisp, and black, and long,
His face is like the tan;
His brow is wet with honest sweat,
He earns whate'er he can,
And looks the whole world in the face,
For he owes not any man.
Week in, week out, from morn till night,
You can hear his bellows blow;
You can hear him swing his heavy sledge,
With measured beat and slow,
Like a sexton ringing the village bell,
When the evening sun is low.
And children coming home from school
Look in at the open door;
They love to see the flaming forge,
And bear the bellows roar,
And catch the burning sparks that fly
Like chaff from a threshing-floor.
He goes on Sunday to the church,
And sits among his boys;
He hears the parson pray and preach,
He hears his daughter's voice,
Singing in the village choir,
And it makes his heart rejoice.
It sounds to him like her mother's voice,
Singing in Paradise!
He needs must think of her once more,
How in the grave she lies;
And with his hard, rough hand he wipes
A tear out of his eyes.
Toiling,--rejoicing,--sorrowing,
Onward through life he goes;
Each morning sees some task begin,
Each evening sees it close
Something attempted, something done,
Has earned a night's repose.
Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy friend,
For the lesson thou hast taught!
Thus at the flaming forge of life
Our fortunes must be wrought;
Thus on its sounding anvil shaped
Each burning deed and thought.
As a child, my dad learned about the mean people in the world and not to trust anyone who would be mean to animals. A school bus driver ran over his pet dog on purpose when it came to meet him after school. Maybe this is why he loved all animals and we were never without a pet - usually too many. He knew that dogs were special and needed people, something as a kid I didn't appreciate because I was too busy I guess. The dog we had through most all of my childhood was named simply "puppy". Puppy slept in my dad's room and I can still hear him talking quietly to this old black cocker spaniel mix. "Puppy likes me" he would say. "Puppy is a good boy". He was heartbroken when puppy died my first year in college but he knew that while you can't replace the dog, you can replace the love and having that love is worth the pain of loosing it. He went on to have at least a few more dogs - some were just guests who came by every day to see him. His last pet though, was a cat named "kitty" who belonged to someone else in town who didn't take care of her so my dad adopted her. Dad worried about Kitty and anyone who came into the house was greeted with "Don't let kitty out". Kitty has outlived my dad and my mom. When my dad was alive she slept with him and waited every morning by his door until he got up. When the hospice nurse came to bathe him, Kitty sat outside the bathroom door. She became my mom's cat after dad died and now she has outlived both of them. We aren't sure how old she is.
My dad knew about war - he had been in Germany in World War II. When we were younger we sat outside on summer nights, watching bats and fireflies and asked him questions such as "did you ever kill anyone?" I realize now, that was a dumb thing to ask but we were kids and didn't know any better. His answer was simply "It was either kill or be killed". As he got older though, the stories became more vivid and hard to listen to. But he needed to tell them. There were no diagnoses of Post traumatic Stress Syndrome and no help for the young guys who made it home from that war. My dad knew what it was like to hold one of his buddies in his arms, while the wounded friend looked at him and said "I'm not going to die, am I, Oj?" My dad knew he was going to die but just held him. He knew he was lucky to come back. It's mind boggling to me to think of what would be if he didn't come back? The world would be changed a lot because of all of his descendants that would not be here. The world changes when a new baby enters it and when a person leaves it, no matter the age. My dad knew about death and he knew life was precious - for animals and people.
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| My dad in his Army years - he was just a kid |
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| My dad loved old pickup trucks. This one was his last. |
My dad knew when his own fire was going out. Just before he died, he called an older lady he knew and used to visit, (she was in her 90's then) and said "goodbye" to her. I did not know this until she told me at his funeral.
This song, written by Tom T. Hall reminds me of my dad:
How old do you think I am he said I said well I didn't know
He said I turned sixty five about eleven months ago
I was sittin' in Miami pourin' blended whiskey down
When this old grey black gentleman was cleanin' up the lounge
There wasn't anyone around 'cept this old man and me
The guy who ran the bar was watching Ironsides on TV
Uninvited he sat down and opened up his mind
On old dogs and children and watermelon wine
Ever had a drink of watermelon wine he asked
He told me all about it though I didn't answer back
Ain't but three things in this world that's worth a solitary dime
But old dogs and children and watermelon wine
He said women think about theyselves when menfolk ain't around
And friends are hard to find when they discover that you're down
He said I tried it all when I was young and in my natural prime
Now it's old dogs and children and watermelon wine
Old dogs care about you even when you make mistakes
God bless little children while they're still too young to hate
When he moved away I found my pen and copied down that line
'Bout old dogs and children and watermelon wine
I had to catch a plane up to Atlanta that next day
As I left for my room I saw him pickin' up my change
That night I dreamed in peaceful sleep of shady summertime
Of old dogs and children and watermelon wine
Growing up, we never ever went on a vacation. We didn't have a nice house and never had a real bathtub. My mom threw a coffee pot at my dad when he came home drunk one time and he probably deserved it. Funny though, these sort of things aren't what I remember the most. What I remember is the wisdom of my dad and the things that he and my mom gave us that weren't things. Hopefully I can pay it forward.
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