Tag: #inspiration

Father’s Day Tribute

Because there are gaps in the ages of my siblings, we each have very different memories of our parents.

Dad – The Music Man

The fondest memories I have of my dad involved his love of music. He sang in the church choir for decades. Even sang solos! He also played several instruments. The sweetest picture I have embedded in my mind is him playing his mandolin for my almost 1-year-old son. My son’s face shone as he lovingly looked at his grandfather, and my dad was beaming as he played. My dad played by ear. He played the piano. The organ. The banjo. The harmonica. And the mandolin. I’m pretty sure he passed on his good singing and music talent genes to both of my sons. My oldest played trombone, and my youngest played saxophone. Each also sang in the church children’s choir for many years.

My Dad taught me some people have the gift and talent of music, and some do not.

Although I love to sing – I have been told I am in the “not gifted and talented” camp. Oh well, I still sing loudly and proudly and off-key.

Dad – The Putterer (Is that even a word?)

My father was a putterer. He puttered around the house most of the time. Except in the evenings, he would sit on the floor, lean against the couch, and watch animal shows or the World Series. He was not much of a sports guy, yet he enjoyed watching baseball and would root for the team that played the best. It was never a “this team” or “that team” sort of thing. It was what team was the most strategic and played well.

I learned from my Dad that playing the game is more important than winning or losing.

Dad – The Master Camper

Camping was my dad’s favorite thing to do in the whole wide world. It still gives me the willies. I don’t care for bugs, dirt, being dirty, or not having a bathroom nearby. Camping was not my thing. Growing up, we all endured week-long camping adventures each year. We usually didn’t go too far – my dad wanted to escape from the smog and sounds of everyday life in suburban New Jersey. So, our usual jaunts were New York state and Pennsylvania.

Before “aging” out of this family ritual, our last adventures were in a campground named Scot Run in PA. A few years ago, I visited the campground, and even though it was now a “members only” sort of place, the kind lady allowed me to drive around for posterity’s sake.

My Dad taught me how camping is for some people, not others, and definitely not for me!

Dad – The Peacemaker

Peace, at all costs, was the name of the game growing up. If we were mad or angry, we had to keep it to ourselves. No loud voices, no yelling, no calling names. Simple rules. Maybe not so simple. In adulthood, I learned that sweeping emotions under the rug is not the way to go.

Growing up in this peace-at-all-cost mentality did not prepare me for real people who get angry and yell.

It took me years to figure out that conflict can be helpful. Who knew?

Dad – The Chef

Last month, I promised to fill you in on my dad’s role as Chef when he retired. When he retired, he took over the meal prep and execution and was surprisingly creative. He would go into the cupboards, see what was there and work with whatever he could find. Rice Krispies? Sure – he would throw them in a stew or use them as batter for fish. Nuts? Sure – we can throw them in too! Cheerios? Sure – Mash them with potatoes. Spices? If he didn’t know which one – he would use them all. Most of the time, the meals were tasty and colorful, unlike my mom’s typically gray and overcooked meals.

My Dad’s culinary skills brushed off on me and he taught me to experiment and not be afraid of mixing odd ingredients.

In my cooking, I try to balance the plate through color. For example, orange, green, blue, and red would be sweet potatoes, peas, blueberries, apples, and fish or chicken. Just the other day, I used cornflakes as a batter for fish.

Dad – The Pie Maker

Now onto pie-making. Pumpkin pie, apple pie, and lemon meringue pie. Since my dad was the baker of the house, the holidays were filled with various yummy homemade pies, and he also would make the obligatory Fruit Cake each year. Seriously – my dad was a great pie maker. Fruit cake? Not so much! I learned that pie-making requires a skill set that I don’t have. Baking neither. And that’s okay – I’ll stick to gourmet cooking! By the way, Sprouts has the best vegan cupcakes!

Dad – The Tool Man

Dad had an elaborate workbench and toolset in the basement. He could bend the aluminum. Use a vice, cut wood with an electric sander, paint a door on horses, and use his power tools, including a drill press. He seemed to have lots of tools and knew how to use them for odd jobs around the house. He was the consummate jack of all trades – handyman and overall jerry rigger. Why spend money on a specific item for a particular purpose when you can make one yourself and have to go buy parts that were more expensive than the item you needed anyway?

Growing up with a fixer Dad, I learned to hire professionals who are experts in their field.

Dad – The Consummate Driver

Drive to the comfort of your passenger was my father’s mantra. When he was driving, which was most of the time, he would routinely ask if you were comfortable. Which seems to be a bit comical because we didn’t have air conditioning, and he didn’t like the windows opened because he might get a draft leading to a stiff neck. Hmm.

Like my Dad, I ask my passengers if they are comfortable as well. 

Speaking of driving, I remember my sister driving (my dad’s car) and hitting a guard rail in a rainstorm because the tires were threadbare. This incident taught me to maintain my vehicle regularly by scheduling maintenance visits with the car dealer according to the manufacturer’s recommendations because they are the experts!

When driving, if my dad saw a person he knew walking on the street, he would pull over, roll down his window, and ask if they would like a ride. He would say,

 “God gave me this car, and I need to offer rides to others who don’t have one.” It was a nice gesture. I’m not sure if anyone ever took him up on his offers.

Dad – The Christian Guy

My dad had quite a black-and-white view of Christianity. You were either “in” or “out.” There was no room for any gray areas. He grew up Presbyterian and somewhere along the way figured out it was not “Christian enough.” In his early years of marriage, he, my mom, and my older brother attended a church, and when they moved, they attended another similar “fire and brimstone” church. The second minister seemed to have filled their minds with an orthodox type of belief. No playing cards. No dancing. No make-up. No alcohol. If you did not believe 100% the way they did – you were not worthy and doomed to hell. When my brother was a teenager, he started attending a non-denominational church with much more lenient views much closer to home. That very same non-denominational church is the church I grew up in.

A sandwich, an apple, and a bible in a lunchbox. This is what he brought to work each day. He used his lunch hour for a “devotion” time where he would read and pray. He believed the bible’s every word as gospel, even the parts that make no logical sense. It certainly would have been interesting to witness his life at the turn of the new century. He left this earth in 1994. His steadfastness is what impacted me the most.

I learned that faith is an everyday affair, and I am truly grateful for the love of God that my Dad instilled in me.

Dad – The Blue-Collar Worker

My father was a typical father of the ’60s and ’70s. He was a blue-collar worker and worked hard for an honest day’s pay. He had quirky theology both about religion and labor unions. In retrospect, this makes perfect sense to me since he was never a member of anything. He would probably say he was a member of God’s army. And that was all. He was not an official church member – although he attended more regularly than any member ever could. He would not join the labor union, the Masons, or any other organized structure. Not sure where any of this thinking came from – I’m assuming God, of course! I also believe he would have been much happier being a priest or a monk. 

Father’s Day is a day to honor all the dads who worked hard to support their families, trying their darndest.

Dads are not perfect.

Not my dad.

Not his dad.

And certainly not my children’s dad.

Today, I honor my dad. The father of four children – each one with significantly different perspectives.

(or, maybe not so much?)

He was by no means perfect. He was not the warm and fuzzy type. And I know he did the best he could and made the best decisions for himself and his family at the time. I wish I had been closer to my dad even though we were cut from different cloths.

So, go ahead. Call YOUR father and wish him a

HAPPY FATHER’S DAY!

One day, he might not be on this earth to pick up the phone.

Call to Action: Share, Like, Follow, Comment. I would love to know what you learned from your father.