It has been a dozen years since Dad passed away. There are still so many days when I am working on some project that I want to pick up the phone and ask him a question or, better yet, get in the car and drive across town for help. There is a switch in my brain that is still wired to check with Dad. After that melancholy pause where I remind myself that I can not, I go through the filters of "what would Dad do?" Assess the situation. Creatively use what you have on hand. Do it right. Do it well.
Dad had Bob Villa know-how with a Tim Gunn "Make it work" attitude (and I can even see him watching a show like Project Runway and harping on whiny contestants). For all of us kids, our school or scouting projects were top of the class. Dad was not an engineer and never even went to college, but my Cub Scouts Pine Wood Derby car looked sharp and placed well and he helped me build a catapult in high school. I remember a Halloween party for a sister where he had converted basement stairs into a hidden slide behind a curtain that dropped surprised guests off into the party room. He bought mangled bikes at the police auction and made my brother and I enviable rides. His skills far outweighed what I inherited (he built a motor home out of a bread truck, for instance), but he passed along the mindset and courage to try anything and not panic about it.
In fact, I can not even think of a time when I saw Dad panic. The closest for him was that look where you could see the anxious potential energy in his face, like when one of us kids was hurt and he could not do anything more and it was in a doctor's hands. I remember one time we came home after a short trip and our family room was home to a swarm of bees. Watching Dad was like following a formula. Bees? Find where they came from. Fix point of entry. Remove bees. Within minutes of watching the bees, he saw a hole where they had drilled from the attic through insulation and soft ceiling tiles. A nice steady stream of insect killer, on-hand in the shed of course, stopped any more bees from entering through the hole. Not wanting to spray down our family room with poison, Dad donned head to toe clothes sealed up at all entry points, made a make shift bee keeper's helmet, attached our vacuum cleaner to a long extension chord, and entered the family room through the sheet he had already hung to quarantine the bees. He switched on the vacuum and waving the extended plastic arm like a master swordsman, proceeded to suck every bee out of the room. After that, a trip to the attic with insect killer and some screen solved the problem with any remaining bees and entry points. Just another day.
Just another day, but one to provide for his family and to enjoy them. I saw Dad falter, through bad economic times, leaving a business partner and starting anew, and the loss of one of my sisters. The last, especially, I can not imagine. How does one, with the loss of a child, assess the situation, use what's on hand, do it right, and do it well? I can never fully imagine, and pray I never have to, but I was old enough to watch him hold it together and be a rock for my Mother and all of us. He did it right and he did it well. That was Dad. I carry on in my life and try my best to show my daughter the same attitude and skills. I watch her now in the kitchen baking me cookies for Father's Day, and I appreciate it so much more, because of my Dad. I look out at the table sitting in the middle of our living room filled with her 4-H scrapbook project that needs finished today, and I know I have it under control. Because of my Dad.
In memory and appreciation of my own Dad, Happy Father's Day to all of you Dads out there.
#fathersday  #fathersday2013 Â
Google+: View post on Google+
Post imported by Google+Blog. Created By Daniel Treadwell.