My Father, My Dad

Growing up I was never very close to my father. He was a hard working man who never missed a day of work or passed up an opportunity for overtime. Yet when he came home from work, he wanted his dinner, his newspaper, and time to watch tv for a bit, often falling asleep in his chair which no one else was permitted to occupy.

Words of affection were never spoken. As children, the three of us, including my older brother and my younger sister, never heard those three magical words “I love you.” True, we received gifts at Christmas and for birthdays. And when we celebrated birthdays we sometimes got a hug along with a birthday spanking, but spankings for misbehavior were more frequent.

So we grew up emotionally independent from our parents. We handled our own problems without resorting to our parents for anything, especially not for advice.

So it was an eye opener when as a 16 year old Dad got me a summer job where he worked. For three weeks I counted stuff and filled out inventory tags in preparation for a full physical inventory which the company would perform later.

I went to work early every morning with Dad, waking up shortly before we left at 5:30 am. We talked a little. But the eye opener was seeing Dad in his element. At work he was very outgoing and friendly, joking with his coworkers and playing cards with them during lunch. In fact, he instigated practical jokes with them, borderline bullying behavior. But they loved him too. I never in my life had seen him like this.

Later that year, I accompanied Dad on my first deer hunting trip with him. Being in the woods with him, communicating where we were, watching him and learning from him how to successfully hunt was extremely enjoyable. For years afterwards I would go hunting with Dad. It was our annual bonding moment.

Later I went overseas as a foreign missionary. When my parents and a good friend took me to the airport to see me off, I saw Dad actually cry and say he loved me as I was about to board the plane for my new life adventure. I will never forget that moment, regardless of where life takes me.

As a young adult I got married. I had children. I got divorced. Then I did it all again, getting married, having kids, and getting divorced a second time.

Those experiences ruined me emotionally. I went through a deep depression which lasted for decades, starting at age 25. I thought I was alone. That no one could understand my struggles.

After my second divorce, and when I was at my lowest, I turned to Dad to just talk on the phone. Our conversations over the years revealed to me how deeply he had sacrificed for our family. How he had committed additional years to the military just to remain with Mom whom he had met during his service in Korea. How he had questioned his life, his ability to provide for us, his feelings of inadequacy as a father. How deeply he experienced depression. How lonely he felt in his final years, as he managed many health issues. My sister was his caretaker and provided well for our parents, but yet he felt depressed and lonely.

I realized just how similar we were. And I learned to appreciate him in unexpected ways.

He had leaned on me to assist him to quit smoking after a 50 year addiction. He credited me with saving his life. But I think he was wrong. Knowing him saved me. And for that I will always love him.

He passed away four years ago. But I still miss him. And I love him, too.