Remembering My Dad on Father's Day
It’s been nearly two years since I last posted here. Why so long?
I simply haven’t had in me. I
like to write but I have to be in the mood.
Two years ago in January, we lost my 94-year-old dad. He lived a good long life, and it was his time
to go, but it was still hard. I had
intended to write about him soon after it happened, but I couldn’t. It didn’t get easier as time went on. Perhaps that is why I haven’t written
anything. I don’t know. Somehow, this Father’s Day has been harder
than the last two. I am sad I can’t talk
to him. All the ads for this special day
just make it harder. There are
tears. I miss him. I was so lucky that he was my dad.
Actually, I did write about him after he died. I wrote his obituary with input from my mom
and siblings. My mom waited to hold his
memorial service until their wedding anniversary on June 18. In two days, it will be two years. I spoke at his service on behalf of my family. How do you sum up a life in such a short bit
of time? Today, on Father’s Day, I want
to share my dad with you. Here is what I
said:
Good afternoon. I am Verne’s
eldest child.
It seems appropriate that we are celebrating my dad’s life
here. He attended this church as a child
and was active in the youth group. When
he returned to Placerville 15 years ago, he and my mom became members. He was sad when he could no longer attend
services and hoped to return.
My sister commented on how much our dad’s upbringing
influenced his life. He was a country
boy who lived a simple life. He grew up on Coon Hollow Road, just up the road
from his grandparents. He and his
brothers walked down the road to the one-room Coon Hollow School, the same
school that his mother and uncles attended.
In November, Dad and I sat on their deck overlooking Coon Hollow
Road. He talked about the orchards that
his grandparents owned. They covered the
area, but those trees are mostly gone now.
He told me that when he went off to the Navy, the other guys teased him
about being a country boy—but those city boys didn’t know how to shoot a
gun. It became his job to teach them.
Family was important when he was growing up and he carried
that value into adulthood. My dad was a
devoted husband to my mom. Today would
have been their 72nd wedding anniversary. They showed us what love looks like.
He was a wonderful father.
He didn’t discuss his feelings verbally very often, but he showed his
love by his actions. We never doubted
that he loved us. My sister and I
discovered that we have a lot of the same fond memories. When we were little, he would play with us on
the floor. We loved it when he would
balance us on his feet. When our brother
was old enough to have an electric train, our dad created a board that he could
raise and lower and on it he attached train tracks, buildings, trees, people—an
entire town. My sister and I got
interested too, so we each had our own engine.
We can remember making items out of resin by pouring them into molds—all
done in the garage under Dad’s supervision.
We made arrowheads and gifts for family.
Dad was not a big cook, but he was the one who did the barbequing. On weekends he would often make pancakes;
blueberry was a favorite. When we were little,
they were animal shapes. Dad was a Boy
Scout leader for years while my brother was a scout. A large part of our garage was filled with
their camping equipment. He taught us
how to fish here in Placerville and made sure that we knew how to put a worm on
the hook and that we knew how to clean them.
Dad was very handy at building and fixing things. He built us a playhouse at the back of the
yard, right next to the raspberries he grew.
Dad built a large Barbie dollhouse for my sister and me which we later
fixed up for our little sister; my girls later played with it. He bought an old wooden boat, a real fixer
upper. It became his fishing boat plus
he sometimes took us waterskiing on it.
After we all left home, he began building whirligigs and my family were
recipients of several of these. When
they needed repair, he would take care of it when they came to visit. My older daughter remembers his quiet
concentration while he painted them.
When he was no longer making whirligigs, I bought him a couple.
Dad was the kind of guy who would give you the shirt off his
back. He would do just about anything
for his family. When my husband and I
went on our first real date, we drove up from Menlo Park to San Francisco with
our bikes and took the ferry to Angel Island.
When it came time to return to the ferry, my date realized that he had
lost his car key. We returned to our car
and found a phone nearby, but he couldn’t reach his neighbors who could help
him. So, I called my dad for help and,
of course, he said yes. He drove from El
Cerrito across the Bay Bridge to the vicinity of Fisherman’s Wharf. He drove my date down to his house to get a
key and then back to San Francisco. That
was the first time they met. That was my
dad.
Not only was he a great dad but he was also a loving
grandpa. My older daughter remembers him
as a quiet, still presence which had an impact on her as a child. She could sit and talk to him, and he
listened; he never treated her like a child.
He was often the calm in the middle of a storm.
Our dad was a shining example of how to be a good person. We miss him but he will be forever in our hearts.
