My Dad

I was blessed to have a nearly perfect dad. 

He was the best looking guy in the world.  Take Cary Grant, Clark Gable, Roc Hudson, Paul Newman, Robert Redford, and every other good looking movie star, put them all together and choose out their best parts, and you would have my dad, only he was nice, too. 

I know I may be a little prejudiced, but I'm not exaggerating.  My dad really was good looking.  He had almost black hair, smooth, tanned skin that turned deep, dark reddish-brown in the summer, high cheek bones, the bluest eyes you ever saw, and a smile that could light up the whole world.  Dad wasn't extremely tall, but he was well built and always fit. 

I remember one summer, I bet he was in his late thirties, when Dad decided he was getting a bit of a pot belly, so he began riding his bike to work every day.  Dad got his picture in the paper because he was doing his part for the ecology, but the real reason he kept it up was to stay fit, and it worked.  Dad walked, ran, biked, and worked all the time.  He relaxed by working outside, cutting hay, mowing lawns, irrigating, fixing up the cabin or cutting firewood, anything that wasn't working behind a desk. 

Dad also had a sharp mind and was smart.  He first went to college to be a history teacher, but he spent most of his life in school administration.  He also drew house plans, worked construction, had his realtor's license and developed property, farmed, and did a thousand other things.  In fact, I don't believe there was anything in this world Dad could not do.

Dad was even tempered and patient, but he continually worked on improving those qualities.  I only remember him using a swear word once, although Linda says he did twice.  The time I remember we were sitting in the car, still in the carport.  It must have been at least 100 degrees in the shade.  We were all wearing  Sunday clothes, which meant Dad was in a suit and tie so he was probably even hotter than the rest of us, and we were waiting for Linda to get ready so we could go to Church.  We were already late.  Dad was never late for anything, but especially not Church because he was the Bishop of our ward and he always had to be there for meetings early in the morning.  This particular Sunday was Stake Conference, I think, so there had been no meetings and Dad was going with us.  He didn't realize it, but we always got into the car at least half an hour early, so we could give Linda 10 minutes to finish up whatever she was doing and finally join us, and we still had time to make it to church before the opening song.  At any rate, Dad had sent Mom into the house to see what was keeping Linda, and she had just come out without her, saying it would only be a minute or two longer.  Frustrated, Dad opened his door and started to get out, I suppose he was going to go hurry Linda up, but somehow he hit his head and that was the last straw.  "D.........!"  he exclaimed, and we all froze in shock.  That had never happened before in our lives.

The other time Linda remembers is when I had just got my drivers license and we were coming home from a family outing at the Super Slide.  We had a bright orange VW bus, (man it was ugly!) with a stick shift that stuck up out of the floor right by my right hand.  I wasn't very good at changing gears, and I often stalled after I started, so I was worrying about that and not looking for traffic.  Without knowing it, I pulled the bus right out in front of a car zooming down Main Street, and almost got us killed.  Linda says Dad swore that time too, but I was so scarred and anxious I don't remember anything anyone said.

I do remember Dad coming home with Og Mandingo tapes and all kinds of books about how to improve yourself and become a better person.  Dad worked really hard on doing that.  He wanted to be kind, patient, thoughtful, and nice.  The older he got the nicer he became.  I remember many times when Dad would talk to me, trying to help me improve myself, then half an hour later he would come looking for me to apologize in case he had hurt my feelings.  You could always count on him doing that.  Any time he got upset or lectured too much he would feel bad and come apologize. 

Dad's mom got dementia when she was in her late 70's, and for a long time her mind was fuzzy, and eventually she didn't know any of us.  After she passed away Dad's father also developed dementia and suffered the same way.  It really hurt Dad to see them like that, and he often told us if he got that way he wanted us to take him out to the canal and drown him.   He didn't want to be a burden to anyone.  I truly believe it was Heavenly Father's way of blessing Dad for living such a good life when he shortened Dad's final days and allowed him to pass quickly after developing dementia himself.  It was less than six months after Dad lost his memory before he passed away.  Even during that time Dad was sweet and pleasant and trying in his own way to be kind and nice.

On Dad's last birthday, July 4, 2008, Mom told us about something that happened to them that morning.  She said she was helping Dad brush his hair and teeth, and get dressed.  He hadn't lost it completely at this time, but he would start to get ready and then forget what he was doing, so Mom helped him.  As she was patiently helping him put his shoes on Dad said, "You are so nice.  We ought to get married."

Mom was kind of taken back, but she smiled and patted dad on the arm and said,  "We are married, honey."

Dad looked at her for a couple of seconds with a look of surprise, then as things began to click he said, "Oh.  What does Eleanor think about that?"  (Mom's name is Eleanor.)

Mom said she didn't know whether to laugh or cry, maybe a little of both, but that was just dad.  He wanted to be nice, he always wanted to be nice.  That's just who he was.

I love you Dad, and I sure do miss you! Happy Father's Day.