When I was not yet in my teens, my brothers and I learned of a wonderful thing. It only took three signatures attesting to the fact that someone should be locked up to protect themselves or others in the State of California.
Of course it didn’t take long before we realized that the signatures of three boys wasn’t going to carry enough weight to get our Dad committed. Committed, not because there was anything wrong with him, but because there was so much that was right.
By the time I was just beginning to drive, I had already figured out how wrong we had been back then. By then I wouldn’t have traded fathers with anyone, anywhere, for love nor money.
Dad is mostly a quiet man, mostly I say because there were times when he had to raise his voice (and his belt) to get our attention. And it wasn’t until many years later that I realized we three boys deserved more than we got when it came to punishment, and less than we were blessed with in the way of parents.
And while his belt stung some, it helped to underscore the lessons that dad tried so hard to teach in the most amazing of ways. Looking back, I have no clue how he did it. Some of his lessons were instant epiphanies, others, well I call them “the lessons my dad taught me that took a while to grow”. Perhaps if I relate a few you will see what I mean.
One time, Dad and I were out in the backyard doing something, work most likely as he was unduly fond of finding work for us boys, when low and behold the phone starts to ring. My ears perked right up, for here was an escape pleading with me to bolt over the wall and away. So I quickly up and said: “I’ll go get that”. To which Dad replied; “Don’t bother, if it’s important, they’ll call back”.
“Holey Hanna” what a thought. Yeah, if people really needed to talk to me, they would try again, and if they didn’t, well then it really wasn’t important enough for me to interrupt whatever I might be doing at any point in time. What a thought. I live by that still to this day. I don’t let the ringing phone, or all the new prompts, e-mails, facebook, twitter, cell phones, etc., run my life for me. Nope, those are tools for me to use, not the other way around.
Or the time when we boys found a new amusement. One summer day we started playing a game, opening the garage door, climbing up on the garage, jumping off the garage onto the open door and sliding down the face as the door slammed closed. Round and round we went. Great fun and all.
Of course, the inevitable happened, the old wood uprights split. Dad noticed it and had us out one night helping him to fix the old uprights. Of course, we were sweating figuring that we were busted, but nope, dad just fixed the posts and went back inside without saying a word.
So, back to sliding on the door. Heck, after-all, it was obvious Dad didn’t know we had done it. Course, the fix didn’t last long and the post started splitting open again. Dad was back out fixing the door and we were helping him, figuring we were busted again. But again, not a word was said about us being in trouble, and again, we figured we had gotten away with it.
So, after the repair, we headed off to play while Dad stayed around cause he wanted to “paint the door”. When we came back, we found it painted alright. It was also sporting a nice raised wood pattern of horizontal strips that would have shredded our rumps if we ever slid down that door again.
I remember Dad telling me that he felt it was his sacred job as a father to make sure that my hands were well acquainted with a broom, a rake, and a shovel.
Or the time when I was really mad at him for something I wanted to do and he wouldn’t allow. I remember yelling at him that I didn’t like him. And I remember him quietly saying “Well son, it would be nice if we could like each other, but my job is to make you into a socially acceptable human being, so if we can’t, it really isn’t important.”
He took our wildness in stride as “boys being boys” and he focused us on our futures with honest hard work, with freedom to do wrong, and discipline to think it through next time. Sayings like “Some people’s kids” which could be used sternly, scoldingly, lovingly, or wonderingly; or “In my house you will live by my rules” to keep us on track, or “What were you thinking?” to make us take stock of our actions were our daily world.
He taught us how to make beds to bounce quarters on, and push a hand powered lawnmower while the gas one slowly seized up in the garage. We fixed bikes, built toys, shot arrows, and BB Guns, and learned to run and climb and play. Dad taught us to hunt, and fish, and sail, and be free in a world that was slowly constricting around everyone else.
But what he taught us best, through his sayings, and his actions, through his expectations and his demands; what I love him for the most, is that he taught us how to be MEN. Three babes born; Three boys raised; Three men out; and Three men that have made their way through life.
Three that have met the good, challenged the bad, and braved the unknown. Three that have always had a guiding light to look back on, a pattern, and a vision, and a plan. Three that have always had a pillar, no, a whole foundation to rest upon when there was a need.
And Three that have always known that the lessons of our father would always allow us to win out as long as we lived up to the role model that he continues to provide.
Copyright © 2011 - Marty Vandermolen - All Rights Reserved
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