Happy Father's Day

Dad, Patricia and
our granddaughter, Hailey

The other day while cleaning out a drawer I came across a photo of our daughter in uniform standing with my Dad. I actually remember the day quite well.

She was home on leave from being stationed in La Maddalena, Italy. Weeks before she came home Dad asked if she would bring her uniform with her and wear it to church on Sunday. I know how very  much she didn't want to do it, but she did. Sitting next to her in church was probably one of the proudest days of Dad's life and I am proud of a daughter who would do that for her grandfather.

Those from my hometown who knew Dad are probably not aware what a soft-touch he was.  Some may remember the business man who ran a dog food factory. Others may remember the man who danced with all the girls when he and Mom chaperoned after-prom dances. (For the uninformed, during the 1960s and early 1970s dancing was a sin in Hamilton so there were no school-sanctioned dances after proms. Mom, Dad and a few other parents would rent a hall at a different location and chaperone dances). I am sure there are many boys who remember Dad as a terrifying figure who sat in his chair and could grill a young man about his intentions without saying a word.

I remember a Dad who cried when he said goodbye to me at the airport when, at the age of 16, I left for a summer in Finland as an exchange student. I remember that same Dad who, years later,  stood by the window at a hospital nursery and cried tears of joy when our first son was born.

I remember a Dad who would have grounded me for life had I even looked crosswise at a cigarette, but would sneak behind the garage with my sons and smoke with them. "Don't tell anyone. Willy thinks I quit," he would say to them. I remember the guilty look I got when I came around the corner and found them all huddled together, a thick blue cloud of smoke surrounding them. "They made me do it," he said.


I remember a Dad who would stand on the church steps after a Sunday service and announce to the world it was "time for a Hokey Pokey" and then would pile all the grandchildren into his convertible and take them out for a "Hokey Pokey" sundae at Sherman's in South Haven. Mom warning him the entire time, "Donald they haven't had lunch yet."

I miss my Dad. He was probably one of the scariest/kindest men I know. He could have my sisters and I jumping through hoops just by clearing his throat. I don't think he ever raised his voice at us. He didn't have to. One look from him and we knew we had to toe the line or else . . . what that "or else" was I'll never know because we never had to find out. And truthfully, Dad never had to say it. There were never threats.

Were we perfect children? Oh Heavens no. But there was little we could get away with as Dad was fairly well-versed in the ways of misbehavior. Dad missed most of his junior year of high school. Apparently he hung out with friends at a gas station. The next school year he had to have lunch every day with his old-maid aunts.When he would recount the story to us he made it seem as though having  lunch with his aunts was a fun thing. I am quite certain it was not.

So on this Father's Day afternoon I pay tribute to my father. Miss you Dad. But I will always remember the good times you created for us.