2019 - Gratitude Month #2 - Dad

Gratitude day #2

Since Gratitude day #1 was about my mom, it would be only fitting that this day shows my gratitude of my father.

Just like my mom, Dad was born in the eastern hills of Kentucky; the middle child of a large family. He would often tell me of some of the escapades he and his brothers would get into, and I sat there in horror! I grew up as an only child. I just couldn't imagine.

There wasn't much opportunity to better your life in those early days of the 1900s. His father and brothers had gone to West Virginia to work in the coal mines, then came on back across the Big Sandy River to Kentucky. Later, Dad would return to West Virginia and join his brothers working in the mines.

Dad only went to sixth grade, and spent three years in the fourth grade. Mom had gone to eight grade. Dad particularly valued any opportunity for education, for the opportunities didn't exist for him.

He and Mom met each other at some sort of a country church function, and were married in Kentucky. It could have been a dance, or Sunday School, or just "dinner on the ground." She was always sort of vague about it.

Their first two daughters were born in Kentucky. Shortly after, Dad took his family to West Virginia, where one more daughter was born in a town that no longer can be found - Ethel, WV.

It was from there that Dad was drafted into World War II to serve in the US Navy at Pearl Harbor. From what I can recall, he was the only one from that coal camp to be called up. Thanks to the kindness of friend Randy W Whited, who retrieved his military record for me, I learned a whole lot more about his Navy service than I ever knew before. Even my sisters didn't know some of the things in the record, for they were very young when he was gone.

Dad arrived in Pearl Harbor after the attack, but could still recall with a shudder how the base looked. They were still retrieving bodies to be shipped home. While he was gone, my mother became deathly ill, and his service record shows the tremendous amount of correspondence written to get him back home. Finally, it was approved, and he came home on a cargo plane, not realizing that he was riding among dozens of coffins.

Mom recovered, Dad went to work as a plant manager for the Pepsi-Cola bottling company, and all seemed well...until those Mormon missionaries came along. Mom and my sisters were so pleased with the decision to join; Dad wanted nothing to do with it. Plus, the missionaries were pushing Dad.

You just didn't push my dad.

So, as with so many others who were taking the highways north for better jobs, Dad made a trip to Ohio. He was looking for three things:
1. That better paying job.
2. A better opportunity for education for my sisters.
3. No Mormon Church.

He found exactly what he was looking for, and moved the family in a blizzard on January 1, 1950. Just four months later, the Church opened up the area for proselyting, and two missionaries knocked on my mom's door.

My beer drinking, cigarette smoking Dad began to listen, and was baptized two years later. He was Bishop of the local congregation when I was baptized.

Dad was a good man that I never had to fear. His talent amazed me, for there was nothing he couldn't build if he needed it. He built me the best wheat grinder out of a washing machine motor he found at the dump, which I still have and use to this day. He was an engineer without a degree.

I was my dad's "boy". He had started his own refrigeration and air conditioning business, and often took me along on his service calls. He taught me not to be afraid of taking something apart to figure out why it wasn't working. Open it up. Keep all of the pieces in order. Examine it to see what's working and what's not working. Carefully put it back together. Trust it to run better.

It worked for washing machines.

It works for life. If your life isn't quite working out well, do the above steps. Then, trust what you've done to get it in order.

I miss Dad. It's because of the sacrifices made by this hard-working man that I am who I am today. He wasn't the kind to gush and tell me I did a good job, but he would certainly tell everyone else how proud he was of me.

It's okay. He brought me ice cream; and it works the same way.

Mom and Dad started me on the genealogy path, for joining the Church taught them the value of talking to those who were still alive to tell their stories. I went with them everywhere, for my spelling and my handwriting was a bit better than theirs. While my friends were at the beach, I was in a graveyard somewhere.

I am grateful for both of my good, good parents. And, I can hardly wait for their embrace...