6/13/12 Chatterbox
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| My husband and my kid's dad |
Betty Kaiser
“It doesn’t matter
who my father was.
It matters who I
remember he was.”
Anne Sexton
Do you remember who your father was? Of course you do. For
good or bad, he was YOUR dad. A unique, memorable individual. I recently polled
my friends and family about their father memories. The responses were fun, warm
and diverse.
They ranged from a dad who was imprisoned in the Congo while
his daughter was giving birth; to dads who taught life skills without saying a
word. I saved a real tearjerker for last— a 45-year father-daughter separation
and reunion—but you have to read to the end of the column for her story.
There are so many horror stories today about deadbeat dads
that I’m happy to share memories of every-day dads who taught life skills as
they lived them—humbly and generously. Here we go…
“My Dad was always my hero. From the time I was little I
remember sitting in the window, filled with excitement, watching for his
arrival from work. I was never disappointed in him. He was an
educator and it was like living with a walking encyclopedia. He was always
willing to share his knowledge with me. What a wonderful blessing in my
life.” Mary G.
“The thing I remember the most is when my father, Clarence Ahrens, came
home from work on Sat. night and would tell us to hop in the car as we are
going out to dinner. My dad owned and operated the Marshall Wells store
in Woodburn when I was growing up. He died in 1999 at the age of 94. This
was the highlight of my week growing up. I looked forward to the Saturday nights.”
Gayle D.
My daughter Kathy surprised me with this story about her
dad: “I
love that Dad taught me to check all the fluids in my car, fill the tires up
and know how to change a spare tire before driving. (Not that I ever did
any of it!) But I love that he showed me and I know how....”
Kathy’s husband Tim, remembers good times at the family cabin in the
Sequoias, wood cutting with his dad and grandpa: “Dad used the power saw;
Grandpa, my brother Bob and I used a two-man saw to cut wood. My 70ish grandpa
could keep up with two young teenagers trading off on the other end of the
two-man saw.”
This daughter remembers her dad’s swimming lessons: “He took my
brother Peter and me to the pool almost every weekend with a stop at the candy
stand on the way home. He taught me to swim, dive and even do a flip off the
diving board. He died in October and was 89! Thanks, Dad.” Susie D.
Another dad inspired his daughter’s love of language and Mother
Earth: “My father was a great lover of the garden. I spent many days working
with him in the yard-actually years-hence my love affair with the garden. He
also was a consummate storyteller. “Old Bruce stories" were told of a
favorite dog. He also committed large tracks of poetry to memory-so my love of
language was born.” Shereda B.
No
matter how old a girl gets, she still is daddy’s girl. “I loved ‘Dad's Weekend’
during my days at OSU. Dad would usually arrive on Friday night just in time
for the college basketball game. I suspected the huge attraction was the game
but having him all to myself and walking to and from the coliseum with my
hand inside his large hand- always made me feel special. All was well.”
Nancy O.
This daughter will never forget the birth of her first child
when her father was with the State Dept. in the Congo.
“My Mother arrived in Ohio from The Congo to be the
woman-in-residence for the birth of my first child, a son. My
Father remained in the Congo where he was informed that the birth had
taken place and all was well. To celebrate, he set out to visit
friends outside the city, car loaded with the makings of a dinner-party.
“He was stopped by bandits impersonating Congolese Army
officers who, appreciating the importance of a grandson and seeing the makings
of a party in his car, wanted to help him celebrate. He refused and
ended up in prison. The American Ambassador found him and got him
out two days later.” Lynn M.
My friend Carol sent me this long forgotten nugget. She and I have
been best friends since1945 when we were neighbors in Los Angeles. Dan, her
dad, had a 40-ft. Chris Craft Cruiser boat berthed in San Pedro, Ca. He was a
fisherman. My dad was not. Here’s Carol’s story:
“I remember an adventure our dads’ had in the 1950's when they went
fishing. They came home and dumped their catch of wretched, live, slimy crabs
on your mother’s spotlessly clean kitchen floor. This was an outrageous
thing to do and WAY out of bounds. Their laughter was fueled by an
over-indulgence of alcoholic beverages and I knew they were definitely in big,
big trouble. This escapade brings back warm memories after all these years
because it was the only time I ever remember my dad acting like a kid—let alone
with your dad—Mr. Varner.” Carol D.
Finally, this
story will touch your heartstrings and demonstrate the depth of a father’s love
in what seemed like child abandonment:
“I met my
birth-father when I was 45 years old. He was a tall, large man of 67, tougher
than John Wayne. He worked in the woods all his life. The first time we met he
handed me a tiny photo of a little girl about 3 years old. He told me he had
carried it with him for the past 42 years. I was adopted into a new family
at 3 years of age but he didn't need the photo any more now because he
finally had me! Special Day. Special Dad. Special Memory. Also, love at first
sight.” Rita S.
Happy Father’s Day, dads! Never forget how special you are.
Betty Kaiser’s Chatterbox is about people,
places, family, and other matters of the heart.
