Day 132 - Eulogy for Dad

As the oldest child, I had Mom and Dad all to myself for three whole years. I have trouble separating memories of Mom from Dad during those years except for these few:

Dad took me to basketball games at MSTC and Concordia.
Dad took me fishing.
Dad took me to the Fargo-Moorhead Twins games.
Dad told me bedtime stories.
Dad read the comics to me - but not always with the words in the bubbles.
Dad held me up in the air on his hands.
Dad took me to see Pinocchio, my first movie.

So, on reflection, while Mom took care of me inside the house, Dad took me out.

Dad had a mischievous sense of humor that on reflection I can recall from my childhood. He gave us all silly nick-names. I can only remember two - Schnickelfritz and Gerald McBoing Boing. I remember the time we spent a week in a cabin at one of the lakes when he brought a garter snake into the cabin while Mom was on her hands and knees washing the floor - who washes the floor when they are on vacation? He told Mom he had brought in a snake and he put it on her back. She just laughed and said she wasn't going to fall for that trick. She was sure it was a rope, until it slid off her back and into the pail with water and soap that she was using to wash the floor.

While he didn't always know the best ways to show us, it was clear that Dad was proud of us and he wasn't pleased when we didn't get the respect we deserved. One year, my sixth grade class was putting on an operetta that involved two of my classmates and I singing the song "Three Little Girls From School Are We" from Gilbert and Sullivan's The Mikado. I was particularly excited to be one of the three because it meant that I could wear the purple silk kimono that Dad brought back from Japan from his Merchant Marines days. I volunteered to bring the kimono to school to show it to the teachers, but on the day, none of the teachers involved asked me about it. And I was too shy to push the issue. When Dad found out, he went straight to the school with the kimono and talked with the teachers about why they hadn't asked me. I don't remember what happened next. I just remember how pleased I was that Dad went to the school on my behalf.

A few years later, I wrote an essay in junior high about the importance of voting in favor of a school bond issue. My teacher showed the principal. The principal of the school sent it to The Fargo Forum, and the paper printed it. I only learned years later that Dad had cut out that column and carried it around in his wallet. Mom had to tell me that; Dad didn't want me to know he was bragging.

Dad was also willing to do nearly anything for us. A very small example from my childhood dealt with my dislike of green beans. I was willing to eat the beans, but not the shells. One day Mom wouldn't let me leave the table until I ate all of the beans - shells and all. She left me at the table. Dad came to tell me I could leave the table because he would hide the shells under Wayne's plate on the high chair. I don't think Dad thought that one through very well because when Mom found the shells under Wayne's plate, she came to me to tell me that hiding them wasn't good enough for her. But since she didn't make me eat them anyway, I guess Dad must have confessed that I was innocent. Green beans are now one of my favorite vegetables.

As I grew older, I was eager to get out of town, to become independent. As the oldest child, I had to fight the battle over the independence boundaries much longer than my siblings did. After my second year of college, for example, I wanted to go to New Jersey for the summer, as a volunteer in an inter-denominational summer program for elementary school-aged children. Because I was under 21, I needed my parents' permission. Dad wasn't ready to sign the paper, but Mom looked Dad in the eye and told him - stretching the truth just a bit - that I was over 18 and therefore I really didn't need his permission. With that clear, Dad signed the form, but I don't think he was pleased. A few years later, when I decided I wanted to teach English as a Second Language after college because I saw that as a way to get overseas, I don't think Dad was all that pleased about that choice either, although he must have felt a little bit of conflict since he had done his own international traveling and working when he was even younger than I was at that point. In the end, he and Mom came to visit me when I lived in Romania, in Germany, and in Barbados. And one of Dad's favorite mementos was his list of the countries he had traveled during his life.

Mom was the spokesperson for Dad. I can recall many conversations that began "your father isn't very happy about. . . " Dad never told us; Mom spoke for him. And there were many times when Mom told us something about Dad's health that came with the warning, "Dad didn't want me to tell you because he doesn't want you to worry."

When Mom died, Dad no longer had a translator. He had to tell us himself how he felt. He had to tell us his news himself. He had to tell us himself what he wanted or needed us to do. And in the course of those conversations, we all got to know him a little more.

I had always connected with Mom through letters or email, but that option didn't work for Dad. Dad had to make a phone call to connect. One day he called just to talk, but eventually he said he had something to tell me, that he had a date. It felt like a good friend sharing his news with me and that felt wonderful. That date was with Dolores and therefore the beginning of her becoming an important part of Dad's life, and ours. The two of them were so happy and as they each began to face health challenges, we worried what would happen when the first of them passed. We lost Dolores in February. Dad's short-term memory was very weak at that point, so her loss wasn't as devastating to him as we had feared. But her passing was a big loss to us.

Sandra, Amalia, and Dad

Dad had a much younger special friend, Amalia, from Romania. He and Mom met her at a Sons of Norway meeting in Fargo when she attended with her Norwegian language professor from Concordia. Dad told me that when he met her, he decided to be the friend for her he hoped I had found in Romania while I was there. Amalia graduated from Concordia and with a lot of help from Dad made her way to Seattle for an internship year. The following year, Dad called to ask me to help Amalia get settled in Virginia as she had received a full scholarship for a masters degree program at Georgetown University. Since he rarely asked for help, and in this case the request was even rarer because Mom was still alive, yet Dad made the phone call. I was happy to do what I could. In the first few months after Mom died, Dad came to visit us in Virginia, in order to attend Amalia's graduation. For the first time, he was more a guest than a dad. Dad the dad used to find things in the house that needed to be fixed and he'd get busy fixing them. But Dad the guest let us take him around town to see the sights. In addition to attending Amalia's graduation, Dad, Amalia and I attended a Sons of Norway meeting. Years later as we kids moved him from his apartment to the nursing home, we found documents indicating how much more help Dad gave Amalia than we had known. How would have learned this wonderful fact about our father if he still had Mom as his translator? So thank you, Mom, for giving us the last eight years with Dad so we could get to know the wonderful man you married.

And thank you Dad for all you did for us, for all you gave us, for the example you set for us, for being the gentleman you were.