Tribute to my father: read at his funeral service June 3 2014: Fifty years ago, my Dad fashioned a trapezoid-shaped car-top carrier out of plywood and mounted it on top of our brand new 63 Ford Fairlane station wagon. He painted it the same color as the car -- beige. During the summer between my fourth and fifth grade years, the family traveled across the country to California in that car. During the days, we stowed our luggage in the carrier. At night, wed pull into a state park, a national park, or sometimes a roadside park and camp. Wed take out the luggage and my brother and I would sleep up top. Mom and Dad would fold the back seat forward and sleep in the back of the car. My three-year-old sister slept in the front seat. The station wagon also had a metal fold-up seat that faced the rear window. For most of that three-week trip, I rode in that seat, looking back to see where we had just been. Today I do the same thing. In our three-week trip we went to lots of places: The Corn Palace. The Badlands. The Black Hills, Mount Rushmore. Devils Tower. Yellowstone. Las Vegas. Yosemite. Fishermans Wharf. The Grand Canyon, The Painted Desert. Petrified Forest. Mesa Verde… At a motel swimming pool in Salt Lake City, on one of the rare nights we didn’t camp out, I accidentally jumped into the deep end and almost drowned. I flailed around in panic – thrashing, splashing -- until Dad reached out a strong right arm and pulled me out of deep water. He has done that more than once for me over the years, metaphorically speaking. Sometimes when I’d find myself in circumstances that were over my head, Dad was the one who lifted me from the deep water and set me back on solid footing. Dad was the most patient man I ever met. He was married to my mother for 62 years. That took patience. I can count on one finger the times I saw him lose his temper. He always did the right thing. My dad was a good man. The finest I’ve ever met. Bar none.
Posted on: Thu, 05 Jun 2014 14:11:22 +0000
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