Today is Father's Day. We're going to celebrate with my father-in-law and Ward's siblings. Yesterday, Ward, Wally, and Theo celebrated while I was at work. They spent the day cooking using the sous vide and the grill. Fun toys for them. I was at work all day but contributed a cherry pie that I made the night before. The carnivores enjoyed their time together.
For today's celebration with Ward's family, we are taking most of the food. We're taking hamburgers and hot dogs, pasta salad, fruit salad, spicy baked beans, and another cherry pie. I think it will be a good day.
But, of course, among the present-day celebrations, I am thinking about my own father. He passed away 10 years ago but is always present with me. He was a fine man and a good father. That fact is somewhat remarkable, considering that he didn't grow up with the best example. His father had problems with alcohol and was mean when he drank. Being the oldest boy, my father was often in the firing line of his father's problems. But I think that made him all the more determined to do the right thing.
As I remember my father today, I am sharing again one of my stories about my father.
When I was little, my father was larger than life. He did the obvious of working hard and providing for our needs, but it was the other things I noticed. Youth is like that. Nothing could equal the thrill I got from riding on his shoulders or the feeling of flying when he pushed me in the tree swing. I loved carrying his lunch pail and was proud when I could stretch my legs to match his stride. When I got too big to ride on his shoulders, he made things fun in other ways. He fixed the lights at the local swimming pool so we could swim all summer for free. And he made sure we always had ice cream.
Then there was the summer I turned thirteen when I was at camp on a week-long canoe trip. One night we ended up camping unscheduled in a farmer's field because of a sudden thunderstorm. We got permission from his sons to camp in their field but not from their father because he wasn't home. As we were pitching our tents, the dad showed up and was quite upset about our trespassing. After a bit of explanation and negotiation, he said we could stay the night. However, it was obvious that he wasn't happy about it.
After things had calmed down a bit, I mentioned that my family used to live in the area. He asked a couple of questions and soon realized who my father was. His face lit up because my father used to be his fishing buddy. He said that Red (my father's nickname) was a fine man. The farmer said no more, but soon his sons showed up. They carried our water, gathered our firewood, and did anything else they could think of to help. So even though he wasn't there, my father was still making things right. He turned what could have been a tense, difficult night into a good one.
On this Father's Day, I want to thank my father for watching out for me in many different ways and for making sure that we always had ice cream.
