Memories

Another really frigid day, and we're not done with it yet. Things are slowly returning to normal – the grandkids are all still on snow days, but younger daughter was able to make it to work today after working from home for the past two days. Her fourteen-mile drive from Parkville to Downtown KC, which usually takes 20-25 minutes, took about an hour and a half.

Something earlier today triggered some thoughts of my Dad, who's been gone for nearly 22 years. He'll never, though, be forgotten. Dad was born in Carroll County in 1918 and spent most of his lfie here.

It wasn't traditional back in the 1920's for people to divorce, but my paternal grandparents did that. My grandmother decided after a few years of marriage and three babies that she just wasn't cut out for farm life. Times were different back then. Grandpa moved close to Grandma, because Dad was only 5 then and his brothers were 4 and 2. That living situation lasted for four years, until Grandpa found out that Grandma had signed the three boys up to be put into an orphanage and adopted out. Grandpa rescued them and moved back to Carroll County. Two of Grandpa's sisters, both of whom lived in Coloma, helped Grandpa raise the boys. This led to a gaggle of first cousins who remained very close throughout their lives.

Like a lot of teens back then, Dad dropped out of high school his freshman year and went to work. Dad spent a long time in the Army during World War II, with some time spent in Europe and the majority of his time spent helping build the Al-Can Highway. He had wonderful stories of his time in northern Canada. He came home and took some University of Missouri Extension courses on farming. He bought the farm where I grew up, and he and his brother lived there until Dad and Mom got married in 1950. Mom moved in and Uncle Jack moved out!

Dad and I had a lot of quality time together, more than a lot of families, because Mom would work away from the farm. Except for one six-week period when I was three or four, Dad would take care of me while Mom worked. That fall, they overlapped when Dad was doing some temporary work with Missouri Dept. of Transportation and Mom was doing fall work at the toy factory in Braymer. I was always tagging around after him. I even remember a funeral or two back then when Mom was working and Dad and I attended services for a neighbor.

Dad taught me to cook and to milk a cow. We worked in the garden together, chased after the cows, I helped him rebuild the barn a couple of times after storms blew it down. But as well as we got along, there were inevitable times when we locked horns. When I was an obnoxious adolescent, I realized that when we locked horns I could get the upper hand by taking my frustrations out – loudly – on the piano. Dad would always put on his jacket and head to the timber to get away from the noise. I feel bad about that now.

When I finally was asked out on a date just after I turned 17, Dad waited until an hour before I was to be picked up to decided maybe I shouldn't go because he didn't know the boys' parents. I did win that round after I pointed out that there had been a week leading up to the date when he could have changed his mind, and I thought an hour before was a little late for that decision to be made. It was a fun date, by the way, seeing a movie at the local theater – we dated for three months. It should come as no surprise that I didn't get my driver's license until I was an adult. Dad was always afraid something bad would happen to me.

Dad enjoyed his family and adored his grandkids – they still miss him. One time when he and Mom were babysitting, older daughter picked up a doll house and was about to deck her brother with it. Dad caught it mid swing and told her that even though her brother might deserve what she was about to do, she shouldn't do it. I don't know how he managed to say it without laughing!