Time with Dad

When I was fourteen years old, approximately, I found out my Dad had a disease called Lou Gehrig's.  It's also called ALS, or arterial lateral sclerosis.  I don't write this to dwell on the disease or incite pity, or even to encourage research, although I support it. It's just a fact that had a profound effect on my family's lifestyle.

For those who don't know, Lou Gehrig's Disease attacks the nerves.  Those afflicted with the condition are currently certain to die earlier than they would have otherwise.  The nerves and muscles waste away starting, most obviously in my Dad's case, with the muscles controlling speech.

Dad began to talk less distinctly, then unintelligibly.  He progressed from shorter sentences to a pad and pencil. Dad's handwriting wasn't great to begin with and was eventually as hard to understand as his speech had been.  I could see it was frustrating for him.

I was a pretty clueless teen, as I believe most teens are and Dad had so much he needed to say before he was gone that he could hardly stand it some days.  He knew more than I did that I would have to wake up and take responsibility for a much larger portion of my life very shortly.  One day, when I had been particularly obtuse, he asked me why I acted like I didn't know my ass from a hole in the ground.  He had a way of saying some things that stick with me.

One thing that I'm sure Dad was a little worried about was teaching me to drive.  He was never a super patient guy. My nervousness with the process of driving and learning to operate a stick shift 69' Chevy truck didn't help.  To be fair, he didn't yell at me unless I made the same mistake lots of times.

One day he let me drive into town.  He didn't have a lot of choice honestly.  His arms weren't that strong by then and the truck didn't have power steering.  He couldn't talk much at all either.  He could still get his point across.  He had a very expressive face and a way with body language.  I got us into town and back but I killed the truck in one intersection three times before I got us across two lanes of traffic for a left turn.  It wasn't good. When we got home from Columbus, Mom asked how the drive had been. Dad couldn't say anything so he grabbed his hair, pulled it up and went Aaaaahhh!

He was an awesome guy.  I wish I had known him better.  Everything was a learning experience.  Most activities had opportunities to make a point or build a skill.  Dad had a great philosophy of learning by doing.  He would help but we weren't allowed to back out of a situation because of simple fear.  If the truck needed to be moved off the hill, I should get in and move it.  Anyone who has driven a stick realizes that as soon as the clutch is depressed, the truck starts rolling backward until it's given gas and the clutch is released.  Nerve wracking isn't a strong enough phrase.  It was a big hill and a heavy truck.  I have a good imagination and I clearly saw that truck and my lifeless young body in its mangled remains at the bottom. That's not what happened though and I'm glad he made me do it now.

I wish I had known him better.  I said it before and I think it to myself often.  It's amazing how little we pay attention to the people around us.  I had this really cool guy at home every day and didn't realize so much about him.  Dad was an exceptional person.  When we had his wake, so many people came that they had to line up around the building.  The funeral director said he had never had so many people come to pay their respects.  Wow!  He was young and our family is large but still, to have that many people wish to show their last respects is humbling to me.  I was sad and angry and blind at the time but I knew a really good man and had the opportunity to learn a little from him.  I was blessed.  I know that now.

Dad was the one who took us camping.  He taught us to poop in the woods, how to set up a tent, what to cook over the fire, and how to love the outdoors and what was in it.  Dad taught me to play baseball. I was an unwilling student, lazy would be accurate.  I was smart enough that I didn't like trying activities I didn't grasp instantly.  He made it fun though.

Dad devised a game we called nine ball.  He realized that my sisters and I all loved to bat but didn't want to catch.  We weren't stupid.  Throw a rock at our heads and we would rather swat at it than try to catch it.  In nine ball, all the players are in the outfield except for the person at bat.  That person gets to bat until someone accrues nine points, at which time the bat and glove change hands and everyone goes back to zero.

You never saw kids work so hard to catch a ball.  It was a cross between the MLB and the NFL.  We ran over each other, tackled, hip bumped, and hopefully got the ball.  Heaven forbid someone steal a fly ball.  With three points on the line, we called our play and defended our turf.  It was a blast, and I got pretty good at fielding too.

When I ran out of cub scout levels in the local troop, and didn't have a leader for the Webelo level, Dad became troop leader to me and my best friend Steve Bennett.  Our troop of two didn't last a super long time but we made mini catapults in Dad's shop. Then we built really cool ice fishing sledges with a place for a heating gas lamp, all our gear, and a place to sit as we waited to catch half frozen blue gill.  Dad taught me a little about cars, hunting, woodworking, farming, responsibility and teaching.  Even though I still don't know what kind of animal a Webelo is, he made sure I was ready to learn and to help others learn.

Dad forever had a project for us that would teach us responsibility.  We had regular chores.  We fed the dogs, washed dishes, brought wood in for the stove.  If a chore wasn't done, Dad would wake us up in the middle of the night to do it.  I hated that, but it was always a while before I forgot again.

Dad bought rabbits and rabbit hutches.  For a year or two we learned how to raise rabbits, how to breed them, how to clean them and not to name them.  Unfortunately, we were given a German Shepard with a taste for rabbit and the operation went under.

Shortly after the rabbits were gone, we became strawberry farmers.  Our house was on fifteen acres of land and part of it was tillable. One year a huge box of strawberry plants came in the mail and we had the job of putting them out.  Then there was the picking.  To this day, I rarely eat a strawberry.  I like the taste OK,  but I just don't want much to do with them.  I must have picked a thousand quarts of strawberries before we stopped messing with them.  It was good pay for a kid with no other job but it was tough hot work too.  You won't catch me laughing at a migrant farmer.  I've had a taste of the life and it's not easy.

I learned so much from Dad about the joy of living and helping and doing.  He died when I was sixteen years old.  I had to be a stronger, more confident, more responsible human being because of it.  I learned to see the rest of my family and pay attention to the people they are.  I stopped being that obtuse, self absorbed little snot that I had spent so many years being.  I spent years angry that he was gone and then more years thankful to God for the blessings I was allowed.

It would have been nice to reach that age where we could talk as equals, two guys who had a house and kids in common, two men with jobs and wives and projects to do together.  I wish he had met my kids and they had met him.  They would have had so much fun together.  I miss my Dad.  Thank you God for letting me have him, even for a little while.