……….. But He Was A Really Good Dad!
My Dad was a Marine.
Most of my childhood was speckled with this fact, one I never escaped. He was tough. Tough on his kids. He demanded order. He expected excellence, honesty, and compliance.
He was the one who established what our chores would be. He dished out the punishment and they could be leathery.
He didn’t have such a great childhood and he had much to overcome after returning from duty. Specifically, the Battle of Okinawa. It was the most costly of all WWII battles, where 14,000 men died. He never really recovered from being part of such a horrific operation.
Dad did get on with his life and became an accountant, technically, an Enrolled Agent. He never became a CPA but encouraged, and mentored, others to pursue that accreditation.
He worked for International Harvester, in Fort Wayne, for 25 years before he retired.
When I was very young, he befriended a man from India. His name was Vish and he had taken a job with International Harvester as well. Vish had no family here. No friends. His English was lacking. As the story goes, someone had noticed that Vish had not showed up for work in several days and had not called as to why he was absent.
My Dad took it upon himself to go to his home and find out what happened.
He found that Vish was very sick, and not being acclimated to the states, our customs and having poor English, he didn’t know how to navigate the health care system. My Dad took him to the doctor and from that day forward, Vish was at every holiday meal and family celebration at our house.
Vish eventually took a bride and she became part of our family. They had children, who also became part of our lives, and at most of our celebrations.
In fact, my Dad would invite people to our home for a meal …………. a lot. To my dismay, there were often strangers sitting at our kitchen table throughout my childhood. He enjoyed sharing a meal with others less fortunate and extending a helping hand when possible.
I learned early in life about inclusion.
After retiring from International Harvester at an early age, Dad started an accounting firm. It was small, nothing fancy with just a few employees.
Our house was big and coincidentally had a fairly large office space that we never used. It was perfect for him.
Dad gave me a job, as a way to make some money, before the age at which the government says you can have one. 🙂 He had binders and binders, lining his office shelves, that held the newest tax codes. I would have to find the right binder and replace the old codes with the new ones. It was a tedious job and I only got paid a dime for each page.
A couple of bucks, here and there, was all I made.
I learned about the value of a dollar.
He was really good at embarrassing me when I was a teenager. Whenever we went out to eat, he would flirt, shamelessly, with the waitresses. Luckily they all knew him to be harmless and, eventually, understood his request for “Oklahoma Coffee.”
“What’s Oklahoma Coffee?” they would ask.
“The sooner the better!” He would respond.
Even after hearing that for the first time, I still didn’t get it, but I wasn’t a sports fan at that age ………. Oklahoma Sooners.
If you happened to go to the local Hooks Drug Store with Dad, at the corner of Calhoun and Rudisill, he would walk in the door and strategically wait until he was passing the pharmacy to mention that he was going to do some shoplifting, smiling at the employees as he passed. He made friends wherever he frequented and he kept us laughing. 🙂
Dad taught me that I shouldn’t take myself too seriously.
My Dad had the voice of an angel. He could belt out a version of Amazing Grace that would send chills up and down your spine. He also loved, and without a doubt could sing it better than, Frank Sinatra’s version of “I’ll Do It My Way.” That might have been his motto in life.
Not every Sunday but many Sundays, my Dad would cook. His specialty was homemade spaghetti, I think it was the only thing he cooked. He spent most of the afternoon watching over it as it slowly cooked on the stove in a huge stockpot. After all, we were a family of ten.
He started the spaghetti sauce from scratch, gathering up ingredients from the fridge that needed to be used up before they spoiled. He didn’t have a recipe.
I never cared much for Sunday night dinners as I didn’t really like spaghetti like I do now. In our house, like so many others, you ate what was put in front of you or you went to bed without. No one made you a different meal. If we thought we didn’t like a certain food, just by looking at it, we were required to try at least one bite. Like most Baby Boomers, I heard about children in the world less fortunate.
We sat at the dinner table and took our time eating, all the while engaging in family conversation. You had to ask, “May I be excused?” if you wanted to leave the table.
Little did I know, but my Dad was practicing what the French have known for years; conversation at the dinner table makes eating more enjoyable and less stressful, especially when trying something new.
I learned about manners and trying new foods.
As my Dad aged, I watched his health declined and his will to make the necessary changes fizzle. He did finally quit smoking but, he suffered from heart disease and congestive heart failure and, I think it was too late to make much of a difference.
I was lucky enough to get to know him better as an adult. He was always around when I was growing up but I never felt particularly bonded. The distance or gap between us when I was growing up closed quickly in those last few years with him.
He was still my Father but we truly became friends. All those years of the strict militaristic behaviors were behind him. Being the last of eight, and married with my own child, his job was done.
Those last few years he was fun to be around. He didn’t offer unsolicited advice, judge or try to “parent” me. He loved it when we were all around to fill his house with noise.
My Dad was not the perfect Father, not even close. But, he did do his very best to instill such traits as morals, values and common sense. He wanted his children to function as productive human beings in society and he was devoted to the task.
Although the brawny approach my Dad took with us was intimidating, and as children we didn’t understand the importance of his actions, those life lessons were, without question, the important lessons.
He was a really good Dad!
Happy Father’s Day to all Dad’s and shout-outs to my brothers, Dan, Casey, Steve and, of course, my Poo!
“The quality of a father can be seen in the goals, dreams and aspirations he sets not only for himself but his family.” – Reed Markham
xoxo, Katy