My Dad
I am proud of my dad. He was a man who confronted challenges without hesitation, and who always put others before himself. He nearly left us almost four years ago, but with guts and determination, he rejected the limits that doctors set for him and not only survived, but got back to living the life he wanted to. In that time, he saw his granddaughter Delia grow from a toddler to a young lady, and the arrival of his grandson Henry. I’m grateful to him for that time.
Even when confronted with cancer, his first thought was about my mom and me, and not himself. In the car on the way home from the doctor after we’d received the diagnosis, he eloquently told us a story about how soldiers in the civil war who marched off to battle knowing they might not come back were lauded for their bravery, but that he always felt the loved ones at home were the brave ones because they could do nothing but wait and feel sorrow. That was the last it was spoken of, and then he bravely got on with it. Never a tear for himself – only concern for those around him, and a noble defiance.
From as far back as I can remember, my dad taught me how to work with my hands. Anyone who knew him knew that he was always a teacher. Even when he wasn’t teaching, he was teaching. My fondest memories of him were the times we spent together building, fixing, or even demolishing things. Every time I fix something around the house or use a tool that he gave me, I think of him and feel his influence. He had an uncanny ability to provide me with knowledge and tools that I’d end up needing in the near future. On Christmas morning, I’d open a present from him only to find a tool that I’d never encountered before and didn’t understand. He’d explain to me what it was and say it might come in handy. Almost always, within the next year or so, it would be exactly what I’d need to complete a project. I loved going and working with him, and again, more often than not what we’d do on those days and what he’d teach me would always come to serve me well later. I’d sometimes wonder why he so thoroughly explained to me what he was doing and had me practice what seemed to be a trivial “when will I ever need to know this” type of task. Later when I’d come to need the exact thing he taught me, it made sense. This was something he did for many other people as well. If someone was in need, he’d make it his project to help them, but also set them up so they wouldn’t need help in the future. His wisdom and thoughtfulness were something to behold.
I’ll always remember the funny things he’d say about whatever project we were working on. “I keep cutting and cutting and it’s still too short.” “I think we need a bigger hammer.” “Violence always works.” and after we’d pondered the best course of action for too long, he’d say “Well, if you’re going to make a mistake, make a big one.”
I’m so proud of how he lived his life; always helping other people, and, to paraphrase a quote from Lincoln that he loved, plucking thistles and planting flowers. The best way I know to honor his memory is to try to follow his example.
And I will always “measure twice and cut once.”