A Centennial Tribute to My Dad - Part 3

Dad was a genuine Christian gentleman. In the main, he kept his emotions in check and his temper at an even keel. His basically shy nature caused him to demur in social settings – to remain in the background, out of the spotlight, simply enjoying the company of others. He almost never – uttered a cross word, and never (in my hearing, anyway) cursed or used profanity. He had a wry sense of humor, and enjoyed puns, silly rhymes, and homespun proverbs.

Dad never made much money. His homes, furnishings and clothing were always modest – but neat and clean. He was meticulous about his personal appearance and that of his home. We never went without basic necessities – probably because Dad was never without a job. He was proud of the fact that never in his life did he have to “go looking” for employment – that job offers had always come to him. In Dad’s mind, this was evidence of God’s faithful provision. It never occurred to me, nor perhaps to him, that it may have also been evidence of a reticent nature that made him maybe a little too willing to “settle” for the first thing that came his way.

Perhaps this helps to explain all of Dad’s moving around. He was a lifelong nomad, always seeking and never finding his pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. I often heard him comment that, "A rolling stone gathers no moss, but acquires a polish of relatively equal value." He must have lived in literally dozens of different places in his life. In the years after my birth in 1956, when Dad was 47, we lived in Madison, South Dakota; Storm Lake Iowa; Madison, again (two different places this time); Moorhead, Minnesota; Loveland, Colorado (two places); San Jose, California (three different apartments); and, in 1985, Dad and Mom moved in with us in Montclair, CA; then moved with us to Chino, CA, and finally, to Bakersfield, CA, where Dad lived his last four years. If my math is correct, that’s 13 different homes in Dad’s final 36 ½ years on the planet.

Nomad or not, Dad never hesitated to pitch in to the work of the local Christian Church (or Church of Christ) immediately upon arriving at a new location, and he served faithfully with that congregation until moving on to the next place. He was almost always made an elder wherever he went. He attended services on Sunday morning and evening, went to mid-week prayer meeting or Bible study, attended board meetings, called on the sick and elderly, showed up for every work day, potluck, or other activity of the church. No layperson was ever a more active participant.

In his later years, after “retirement” from a lifetime of farming and employment in general stores, chicken hatcheries, supermarkets, and finally, a hospital kitchen, Dad became an apartment manager and then, finally, a church custodian. As I said, he worked long hours, and he worked hard. It’s what helped to keep him strong and active until shortly before his death.

Though he wasn't often demonstratively affectionate toward his wife and kids (I have four older siblings - Phyllis, Carlton, Kenneth and Janet), he had a soft heart, and loved his family dearly. He would do any act of service for anyone in need, any time. I don’t remember him often verbally expressing words of encouragement. But I do remember a certain posture he would take: he'd throw his shoulders back a little and puff out his chest ever so slightly. He would get a twinkle in his eye and a little smile on his lips. That was his way of saying, "I'm proud of you." When you get a hint that makes you think your father is proud of you – even just once in a while – it makes all the difference in the world to a son. Even today, when I have done something well, I want to believe that Dad would be -- or is -- proud of me.

So, on the occasion of the 100^th anniversary of his birth -- and 100 years isn't really such a long time, after all -- I remember my dad, grateful for his example of strength, diligence, gentleness, service, perseverance, Christian faith, and love.