Daddy’s Turn to Enjoy Life and His Last Concern

My dad was dashing with his dark brown wavy hair and hazel eyes. Daddy always claimed he was one-half Indian. I have always thought of him as the lady-killer type—suave and debonair. My dad was very friendly with a sociable personality and a good sense of humor. He had a great job at John Deere, and all the ladies thought he was quite “The Catch.” But Mom reeled him in, and they lived happily ever after. Do you think Mom and Dad had the slightest notion they would end up with seven kids? It must have been all the dancing they did at the Coliseum—Floyd and his best girl “Tootsie.” Iris was the first child to come along. Daddy did get to name Iris, but Mom had something to say about that and she named the rest of us. Bernie came six years later, and then Bob right after him. I think Iris was spoiled rotten being an only child for six years. I think she even had a horse because I remember seeing pictures of her on one. After Bob came Carol, then me, Diana, and last was Barb. I always felt Barb was spoiled rotten, too, because she was the youngest. But my secret is I always felt I was Daddy’s favorite girl. I remember spending hours with Dad in his shed. In fact, that is where he named me “Sputnik.” I always thought that his shed was his great escape. Actually, this is where Dad could do what he did best. Dad was very inventive. He was always improving household tools to make them more efficient. I always gave him credit for inventing the first riding lawnmower. Dad loved to go to the auction house every Saturday. He would bring home all kinds of things. Then he would take them straight to his shed and make them better. I enjoyed watching Dad in his shed and spent a lot of time with him out there. I must have absorbed a lot from him because I am pretty good at figuring out ways to do new tasks and consider myself pretty handy around the house. There is almost nothing I cannot figure out. I have been told I have a lot of patience and I feel that helps me do things to perfection. Of course, every one in this family is somewhat of a perfectionist, because of the way we were raised. I don’t think any of us will settle for anything less. Dad worked an eight-hour day at John Deere making plowshares, the part of the plow that cuts into the ground. (The guys at work always called him Casey.) The more parts he made the more money he made, so Dad had to compute how many shares he would make every day. Now, you just know he would work his patootie off to make the money. He had ten people to feed including himself. After a long day at work, if you couldn’t find him in the work shed, then most usually you could find him in the garden. His gardens were immaculate. He would be hoeing the weeds, keeping the soil loose or keeping it watered when there was no rain. There was always something to do. I remember that during the spring of the year, Dad would be in the garden in the early morning hours cultivating the whole quarter of an acre with his hand-pushed cultivator. Then Dad would very methodically plant the seeds. We all had a part in taking care of the garden, even Grampa hobbling about with his cane. In the fall, the garden had to be harvested and I remember we all helped out. Dad would let us pack bushels of apples or tomatoes and take them up to Sam’s Market to sell. Dad told us to shine them and put the best ones on top. Then he would let us keep the money. Dad also grew his own popcorn on McFarland’s lot, and I used to spend hours in the basement with Dad shelling the popcorn. Sometimes we’d also sit at the worktable down there and pick the nutmeats out of walnuts. Dad taught me how to love popcorn with salt and butter. After working in the garden and eating supper, Dad would relax in his big chair, and he always had his index finger on his nose and his thumb hooked under his chin. He thought this is how he kept his nose so straight. I don’t think it worked! I vaguely remember that Dad had a rifle and the boys had BB guns. The joy of my Dad’s life was a trip he took out west deer hunting. He shot an elk, brought it home and had it dressed out. He proudly brought it all home to Mom, but she would have nothing to do with it. Mom wasn’t too happy about this at all. I felt so sorry for Dad. I never did know what happened to all of it. I do know I would have never eaten it. Just like I would never eat liver and onions. Dad would try to bribe us into taking just one bite with fifty cents, and that was a lot of money in those days. Of course, he knew he wasn’t going to lose his money. He knew we would never eat it. Daddy had quite a few favorite foods. Odd food like pickled pig’s feet, pickled herring, canned hot tamales, and sardines. After Dad retired, he was ready to really enjoy life. He bought a motor scooter. He loved that motor scooter. He also bought a new car, a turquoise blue Comet, and a travel trailer. Good for him! Who cares what Mom thought, he was gonna do whatever he wanted to do, anyway. Mom wanted nothing to do with any of it. The kids were all grown. Some of us were pursuing our careers, some of us married and raising our children. Now it was Dad’s turn. He worked very hard to provide for us kids and now he was set to enjoy himself. Only three years after Daddy’s retirement, he had a series of strokes. I remember he felt it was very important to be baptized before he died, and he also wanted to see everyone. As I remember, he should have passed on before he did, but there was one person he insisted on seeing: Bill, Iris’ husband. Days later, Bill finally did come to see Dad and all Daddy wanted was to make sure Bill would “take care of Ethel.” Dad must have loved Mom very much to be so concerned about her on his deathbed. I really admire his devotion to Mom during this time.