Cherries, Cream Soda, and Payday

Today is June 6, 2022, and Father's Day is less than two weeks away. And as I begin my story of him, I am overwhelmed with emotion. The tears stream freely as I consider what I want to share most with you about a man who taught me so much about life, literature, and happiness.

When we would go on road trips, I would ask him hundreds of questions - you know, like the ones that you may find in a deck of cards from Trivial Pursuit. He would always smile and then answer each question. Often giving me more information than I had expected or wanted.

I loved working in the yard with him. Saturdays were for cutting the grass, which took three hours. I remember chopping wood with him and making a nice woodpile. No matter how high the wood was stacked, the logs remained in place. Every summer we had a garden and we worked in it every day. My favorite time was when we went camping.

When I began working full-time after graduating from high school, I looked forward to Father's Day. Each year, I would go to the grocery store and buy a five-pound bag of cherries, a six-pack of Cream Soda, and a PayDay. And we would sit in front of the television watching movies as he enjoyed his Father's Day treats.

When speaking with peers and professors I would talk about my father and how proud I was of him. His knowledge and expertise in the areas of literature and theology often presented opportunities for him to speak in public, write for journals and magazines, and to instruct college students as a guest lecturer. Known for his work on the languages created by J.R.R. Tolkien, he worked with Christopher Tolkien to translate manuscripts that had been written in one of the many languages. He was an editor for Mythlore and had a regular column. He was also asked to write for other publications. One of my favorite essays that he wrote was "The Moral Mythmaker: The Creative Theology of J. R. R. Tolkien". I have used this essay as a reference for some of my own essays. And when professors find out that it was written by my dad they ask more about him, including his name so that they can look him up.

When I returned to school in the spring of 2018, to finish my Bachelor's Degree in English and Art History, I found myself calling my father at least once a week. I would share with him the things that I learned, I complained about assignments and would share my triumphs (like getting the desired A+). He always listened, offered suggestions and advice, and sometimes he would read my essays and poetry - leaving red marks all over the page. I trusted him, first because he was my father and second because he was a professor of Linguistics, English, and Theology.

I came to rely on him quite a bit. When he and my mother would go on little mini trips I would panic because I didn't have "my person" to discuss my ideas and how I wanted to approach an assignment. As I continued in my educational pursuits I began to wonder if I would ever be successful without him. I would push that thought away and hope that I would never have to find out. As fate would have it, there came a point when I could not lean on him. He was diagnosed with stage four cancer, on March 1, 2021. He had surgery in late April to remove the cancer. However, by the end of June, the cancer had returned. And he could no longer speak.

For me, personally and as a writer, the past year has been extremely difficult. I am emotionally drained most days. Some days I wake with tears streaming down my face. As I have grieved, I have found some opportunities to write. Most of my poetry and prose have expressed much of that difficulty, reflecting on my father's illness and passing. In a letter to one of my professors I shared with her my struggles:

My mind has been full of imagery and words that I long to write down, however, every attempt results in a flood of tears that I can not control. Small things around my home bring back so many memories and I begin to cry again. I have admitted to my sisters and my husband that I am not ready to let my father go. I know that at some point I will be able to write everything down that I feel and hope for and every memory of my father, either in poetry or prose.

This was written about two months before my father's 79th birthday. When I arrived at my parents' home for his birthday, I was shocked at how thin my father had become, and how weak he was. He spent the majority of his birthday party in bed. I sat with him while he slept and waited on him when he was awake. We didn't have our normal conversations because he could no longer speak.

I stayed on for a few more days. I helped my mother with errands so that she could be with my father. And other times I would sit with him, while she took a nap or had a bite to eat. My favorite moments were when I was able to witness my mother's tenderness toward my father. She was patient and kind with my father, who was the love of her life.

Returning home, I sat down and wrote a poem that captures the very essence of my father, who traveled, kept journals, and wrote stories, essays, and poetry.

Farewell and Remember

Looking back I desire to share what I've learned

Of winding rivers, upward spiraling trees,

Monumental mountains and icy blue streams.

I will write it all down, my memories great

The silvery scales of rainbow trout, the bear,

The Alaskan eagle that soars, and the mouse.

Becoming a father, afraid and excited

Holding the baby you were, guiding the child

So proud of the young woman you are, so proud.

I have seen the world, its wonders, and secrets

Jerusalem's Dome of the Rock, Egypt's great Nile,

Mexico City for three years, and France.

I've written it down in the Story of Me.

I have time yet, to share what I know and don't

I bequeath my old quill, parchment, and black ink.

Write what you have learned, the good, the bad, the sweet.

I give you my journals, my notes - you must read.

Read to your children - remember me and smile.

My gift to you has been my love, light, and truth.

The love of life, the light of knowledge - pure truth.

My father passed away two weeks after his 79th birthday, early Sunday morning, August 1, 2021. I had returned home the day before, missing the opportunity to be with him as he left this mortal existence. Even as I write this down, the tears stream and my heart aches because I miss him so much.

As this Father's Day approaches, I am saddened that this will be the first one that I will not be giving him a bag of cherries, a six-pack of Cream Soda, and a PayDay. Yet, on July 16th, I will be with my mother and brothers and sisters as we celebrate his 80th birthday doing what he loved: camping.

Things weren't perfect, but he is my dad and I love him even more now that he is gone. I have also come to the realization that everything that he has taught me, and has left me continues to help me as I pursue my education. He helped me gain the confidence I need to pursue a Master's and a PhD.

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About Dr. Paul Nolan Hyde

Paul Nolan Hyde is a Professor of Linguistics at Brigham Young University. Introduced to J.R.R. Tolkien's works in 1966, Hyde has produced many essays on both the legendarium and the field of expertise of Tolkien, Old and Middle English. Hyde is probably best known for his column "Quenti Lambardillion" in Mythlore and several contributions to Vinyar Tengwar. (http://tolkiengateway.net/wiki/Paul_Nolan_Hyde)

Paul Nolan Hyde Collection

(AFC/2001/001/104039), Veterans History Project, American Folklife Center, Library of Congress

https://www.sundbergolpinmortuary.com/obituary/Paul-Hyde

Hyde, Paul N. "The Moral Mythmaker: The Creative Theology of J. R. R. Tolkien." Religious Educator: Perspectives on the Restored Gospel 3, no. 3 (2002). https://scholarsarchive.byu.edu/re/vol3/iss3/28