Father's Day: Memories of Dad

Today was Father’s Day.  I must admit I still miss my dad.  He died in August, 2004, a victim of cancer of the esophagus.  I got to spend a week with him about a month before he passed. We shared a lot of memories during that week.  I knew dad was slipping because one of the things on our agenda was watching the baseball All Star Game.  After the second inning dad informed me he was tired and needed to rest.  Dad had rule; you never left a baseball game before the final pitch.

Dad was member of Gideons International.  That week, each time I asked him what scripture he wanted to hear his response was the same; Judges 7.  When I asked him why he wanted to hear the story of Gideon defeating the Midianites over and over he said it was because of the lesson that you could do much with a little.  Dad was a living example of that.   He grew up during the Great Depression in a very unstable home environment.  He was raised by aunts and uncles on farms north of Detroit.  He did not graduate from high school until he was in his early twenties.  He served in the United States Coast Guard during World War II.  Dad was stationed in Detroit, and that is where he met my mom. 

After the war dad went to school to learn accounting.  We was a bookkeeper for a number of small companies before spending twenty plus years working for a gas pipeline company.  Dad was involved at church.  I remember him best as the Sunday school superintendent but also served as congregational president and treasurer.  He and mom also sang in the church choir.  Church was not an option in our family and it not surprising my one brother ended up a pastor and my sister a Lutheran school teacher.  Our youngest brother is also very involved in his church.

We moved into our first house when I was four.  It was a “small” bungalow.  My dad built the garage and then finished off the attic so that my brother Jim and I would have a bedroom.  Yes, dad was a handyman.  He was also a collector.  Our basement always contained a collection of old parts.  He had a special fondness for washing machine motors.  He turned them into table saws and grinders. 

Dad was a bowler and one of our favorite stories involves a shipment of defective bowling pins the bowling alley had received.  Dad claimed them and soon everyone in the family had a bowling pin lamp.  After I was married I was home visiting family and stopped by to see Pastor George Kurz who was the only pastor I knew growing up.  Sure enough, there was bowling pin lamp on his desk. 

All this leaves my wondering what kind of stories our kids will tell about me.  I am not the handyman my dad was.  I did not inherit my dad’s accounting skills; I am not even allowed to touch the checkbook.  He did bequeath me his love for music, although he was a tenor and I am bass.  If I have a servant’s heart, you can credit my dad.  There were no strangers in my dad’s world.  I credit him as the reason he and mom lived in the same house on the eastside of Detroit for over forty years.  Color of skin or economic make-up meant nothing to my dad.  Everyone was his neighbor.

My dad was an example of discipleship.  I pray that is the legacy I am passing on to Peter, Mark and Katie.