Open Thread:Tell us about your Dad

My dad served in what was then the United States Army Air Force (USAAF) during WWII.  Like most of that generation, he didn’t talk about it much.  We had to dig in his stored-away things to find out that he was decorated for saving the crew of his transport when it went down in the Indian Ocean (he was a Flight Sergeant on the old C-47 “Dakotas”, at points flying the “hump route” over the Himalayas to supply Allied forces resisting the Japanese in China and SE Asia).

He was gentle and quiet, from the Ozark Mountains in Arkansas.  It always struck me as both ironic and precious that his heroism was to save a few lives in a time when millions were dying.

Because he grew up among Baptists, his orientation toward baptism was to put it off to adulthood.  He asked me to baptize him one day at home, which I was blessed to do.

He would have been a wonderful grandfather to our kids.  Sadly, he died a week after Easter in 1991, just after we told him that our first was on the way.  So he remains with me as a sign of the things we all have to live with that are not neat, tidy, fair or “happy endings” in this world, leaving those in God’s hands for the Day that will make all clear.

My dad was as human as they come but he was also sickly and died when I was ten.  But my dad never gave up.  As sick as he was, he fought to love and encourage me and give me the best life possible.  He fought his illness to take me on the boat fishing, crabbing and camping.  He fought to spend time with me, to give me opportunities he never had like being a Scout and play football.  But above all he fought to provide for us in spite of his illness.  In the 1960’s no one knew what was really wrong with my dad.  His condition continued to worsen.  His hemigloben count was so low most of us would not be able to move.  He worked to establish his business as one of the earliest CPA’s in Charleston. He would go to St. Francis Hospital for a blood transfusion after working all day, come home, sleep and get up to work the next day.

In his own way, he laid down his life until the disease took it from him. Yes, he had his faults and in illness we can be less than we might.  But my Dad showed me what it was like to be a Dad who laid down his life for his family like Christ has done for me.

My father was a gentle man, a man who loved his wife every day of their wedded life together. I remember when me and my brother would get into a physical fight, he would say, “if you want to hit someone, hit me”—and neither my brother nor I could do that.
He served our nation with quiet distinction, but I also remember the Christian camp out after which he said, “I’ve been a representative of the United States, but from now I’m also a missionary for the Lord!” I remember being at a healing prayer conference where all the participants were asked if they could remember their father praying with his own words. Of some 300 participants, I remember those who could say yes as being less than 10—and I was one of those people.
My father was very musically gifted, able to play the clarinet, the guitar, the banjo and also the piano. I learned singing in harmony from him. As a young person, he would go into the black section of town to purchase jazz.
I also remember how, when we were young, my father would take me and my brother out to do something fun or educational every Saturday. It’s only now that I know the sacrifice involved.
I thank God for his example as a man of God.

My dad was the kind of person who could read you the phone book and you’d laugh.

Dad valiantly served in the US Merchant Marine “Victory Fleet” in WWII - aboard oil tankers shuttling between New York-Reykjavik and Murmansk….and (like Tim Fountain’s dad) never talked about his three years of dodging Nazi torpedoes. 

He was a radio and television broadcaster for 56 years, and could not wait to get to work every single day of his career.  He never knew how much this alone inspired me.  He spent many years working for Fred Waring and The Pennsylvanians.  Bonus points if you remember them! 

He was a father of 10 and we took up the entire front pew on the Epistle side every Sunday morning in the cathedral.  Missing church on Sunday was never an option.  He delighted in proactively telling strangers “no, we’re not Catholic” when their eyes would bug-out watching us kids climb into TWO station wagons, one piloted by him (cigarette burning away), and one piloted by mother.

He was a cathedral verger (he came over from the Norwegian Lutheran Church when he married my mother) - and he trained a whole generation of acolytes for the diocese.  He was president of the state chapter of the National Cathedral Association for many years ; served as delegate to General Convention three times; a lover of history; musicologist; and a possessed a wonderful and mischievous sense of humor. 

He loved his family so much - even if he didn’t always know how to express it verbally.

He smoked Pall Mall “reds” for 50 years, and it finally got him in 1991.  Pancreatic cancer.  He died two months to the day after the diagnosis. 

At the funeral, the cathedral was jam-packed, and the local CBS television station provided closed-circuit broadcast of the service to the dining rooms and funeral home across the street.  Service for Burial of the Dead (Rite I); wonderful scripture readings; an outstanding homily delivered by The Very Reverend Dean James Gundrum (another “father figure” I loved dearly); and a big band playing hits from the 30’s and 40’s.

If your fathers are still here - tell them how much you love them this weekend.  Don’t wait to spit the words out.  It might be too late.

Thanks dad.  I miss you terribly.

My dad was a Korean era vet who went on to help engineer built great public works projects.He grew up poor, and was the first person in his family to go to college.
He faithfully provided for our family, and quietly endured tragedy, sensing that someone had to be a rock in difficult times.

I still think about him every day.

My dad is an identical twin - exactly half of his family’s ongoing joke about Pete, and Repeat.  He’s ‘repeat’ in the joke,’ but technically it was Uncle Pete who was the repeat.  By a few minutes. 

The twins served in Korea in the Army Core of Engineers, setting up bridges and camps, and scouring minefields.  Dad told me that his Dad took them aside before they left, and admonished them to, “stay pure.”  They did. 

There is scuttlebutt around my family members that Dad was in a fight during those years, and won;  but Dad hasn’t talked about it. 

Dad and Mom had a very difficult marriage that ended in the 80’s.  They divorced on paper but both of them carry around deep scars, that make me wonder sometimes if they really are divorced.  We did convince them to come to a family reunion (not the same as yours) where we took a lot of family pictures.  They agreed and everything turned out okay without too much discomfort. 

Dad has had some heart difficulty during the past couple of years.  His second wife is not a Christian so he ended up not going to church;  but recently he’s been checking out a Lutheran parish.  He’s been talking to the pastor about membership.  I’m hoping that they’ll overlook his Calvinist upbringing or at least, it won’t be a ‘thing’ on either side. 

We have him for a few more years, or a few more months.  I hope it’s longer.  Lots of catching up to do.

My Dad was, and still is, always right, and that made me mad. He said that someday I would understand, and he was right.

Needless to say, you had to have done your homework before trying to argue with him.

That was one important lesson in its own right.