For My Dad

He was a printer by trade. Newspaper man. He smelled of ink and of money.  

He made the money and handled the money.  Bills.  Never plastic. 

He used the envelope system before Dave Ramsey graduated grammar school.

He has never had a vice, that I have ever seen, and believe me 

I have looked and pondered that over the years. 

One year, while on vacation in the Big Horn mountains, 

we stopped off at a small cafe for a treat.  

He had a BEER!  I never saw him drink a beer.  

I was so afraid that he was going to be driving drunk when we got back in the car.

Speaking of the Big Horns.  Never, ever, did I pray so hard in my life 

as when he was driving the car in the narrow little road right next to Meadowlark lake 

to get to a good fishing spot.  

I prayed and prayed and closed my eyes tight shut.  

Please God, please don't let us fall into the lake. 

He never spanked me or ever laid a hand on me or ever even threatened to

that I can remember.  

I think my mom probably told him to, but I don't think he ever did.  

The angriest I ever remember him being with me was when 

my pet rabbit ate his garden seedlings.  

Being a gardener myself, I can appreciate his reaction.

He always tried to teach me not to let my emotions run my life.

It didn't work.

To this day, I don't know if he is a religious man.  

He went to church most Sundays.  My mom made sure we all did.  

I would wager a bet he found his religion in the mountain streams 

where he would fish and in the snow covered peaks where he would hunt.

  

One year for Father's Day, my mom let us pick out a lavender printed shirt,

purple tie and lavender socks to go with his black Sunday suit.  

He wore it often and I loved that he did.  I would sneak into his closet 

just to look at it.

Juicy Fruit gum.  

He always had it in his suit pocket and would give us half a stick during church.

I looked at that when I was in his closet too.  I might have snuck a piece.

He appreciated a good steak but his passions always lied with the 

German foods like his mother used to cook.  

He wouldn't eat pudding if it wasn't hot 

and he made some amazing garden salads 

with lettuce still warm from being picked.

Rice Krispies.  He had a thing for Rice Krispies.

He taught me to ski.  

If you knew him, you wouldn't think he would be a skier. 

He would take us fishing at a sucker hole, just so we were assured of catching something.

He took me rabbit hunting and deer hunting. 

 

When my little sister and I stole the matchbox cars from under the neighbors fence 

and wrapped them up and gave them to our big brother for his birthday.  

He talked to us about it.  

We cried on his shoulders and then we put them back under the fence.

He was and is a good dad and the best grandpa any kid could ask for.

He would do anything for his family.  Anything you asked he would do 

and sometimes without saying a word.  

He is also a writer and didn't get to do much of it until his retirement years.  

I wish I would have hooked him up with blogging.

He survived the great depression, raising teenagers during the hippie era, 

babysitting twins and cancer.

There is nothing this man cannot take on without style and grace.

Thank you dad.  For always being so steady and strong.  My rock.

I love you.