I've been thinking about my dad lately. He wanted to serve, to be helpful, to be useful. Dad was happy. He had a corny sense of humor and he liked to laugh. He got "a kick out of things," as he would say. He was honest. He was clean. In fact, he was disgusted by vulgarity. I never heard him swear. OK, once he called something "damnable."
He worked hard. He went to work earlier than necessary. He didn't shy away from any task. On Saturdays he worked in the yard, coming in dirty and sweaty and tired. Even in his 70's he would help the "elderly" when they moved.
He was outspoken and he liked a little debate, but he was kind. If he had a spirit of competition he kept it in perspective. That is, he liked to win, but I never saw him vengeful, never tried to get back at someone, never hurt deliberately.
He swept the gym floor after Ward dinners, he took the Scouts to the Grand Canyon, he rode the bus with mother and others to the AZ Temple before they built ours in LA. He taught. He was the Bishop. He was on the High Council and in the Stake Mission Presidency. He was a Temple Sealer.
He
loved to grow a garden. From our California yard he brought Mother the
best and most beautiful camelias. Of course, I think of him every
single time I see one. He loved his family and worried over each one of his five children. He was loyal to my sister, Mary, and patient with her. He took his grand children fishing.
He wanted us all to be provided for and couldn't do enough. When Mike and I were raising our family, Dad would show up with a crate of oranges or a large ham or 10#'s of cheese. "These were on sale and I bought too many. I have to get rid of them or your mom will be upset with me."
He was smart. When we planned to start Senior Sampler he counseled us not to focus on our profits but to concentrate on providing a product people would value, to fill a need. And he was supportive. When we published our first issue, he stood out in front of the new Smith's and handed the paper out to shoppers as they came and went.
And he had faith. During those days when he was dying of cancer mother told us he had become withdrawn and less talkative. But when I walked in he perked up and was glad to see me and wanted to talk. Mom was surprised but glad he liked my visits. Among other things I asked, "Is this a trial of your faith?" He thought for a minute and said matter-of-factly, "No."
The doctors kept giving him pain meds but he protested that he wasn't in pain. (A sweet blessing.) He wasn't a deceptive man, but sometimes mother would find his pain pills on the floor. He would submit when she insisted he take it, but then, after she left he would spit it out--too tired to do anything but drop it.
He loved me. Mom always said we were alike.
I felt him near after he died. Among other things, I felt he wanted me to stop worrying about always looking for the discount or the bargain, something I learned all too well from him. It was as if he told me it was OK to expect quality instead.
It's an odd thing to me that I don't miss him. It's not easy to explain, but it's like he loved me so much that he doesn't want to add even an ounce of grief to my life. So it's OK. With both of us.
