When I was in junior high and high school, my dad was the person who always helped me write my speeches for school, competitions, or graduations. Well, here I am talking to family, friends, and loved ones. Only this time, my dad wasn’t there to help me write this one. But in a way, he was sitting right by my desk as I tapped away at the keyboard, putting my memories down on paper.
It has been a tremendously difficult week for my mom, my sister and me. However, the outpouring of love and support has been a blessing helping us cope with the sudden and unexpected loss of my dad.
As friends and family visit or call, a similar theme keeps popping up as they recount memories and stories about my dad, and that is one of welcoming. Dad was always welcoming. As my dearest friend wrote to me, “Your dad never minded having one more in the car!” I guess there was a reason we had a 9-passenger station wagon for a 4-member family! We were always toting other kids around.
My dad was happiest when all of us kids were at the house with all of our friends. I think he just liked having all of his chickens where he knew they were safe.
One word I would use to describe my dad is a fighter. As many of you know, he suffered from a debilitating arthritis that hindered his ability to stand up straight. However, he never let that stop him from doing anything, and it taught me at a very young age not to discriminate towards people with differences.
I remember my dad walking me to school one day in first grade, and I overheard other kids teasing and asking what was wrong with dad. Understandably it upset me, because I never saw my dad as someone who looked different. He was just my dad. But it was a great lesson in tolerance that I hope to pass on to my own children. Never judge someone based on how they look. Get to know people based on their character.
My dad may not have been very athletic, but that didn’t stop him from riding bikes with us as a family, or throwing a softball around to my sister and me, or heading off deep sea fishing with Johnny. My dad may not have been able to do a lot of physical things, but he was always there in the ways that counted. In all the years growing up, I don’t think he ever missed a game, awards ceremony, dance recital, or competition.
My dad was also a fighter in his career. He worked for the United States Post Office for 43 years. I can remember going to visit him at his post office in Madera, and seeing how he had to stand on a little box to be able to reach to sort his mail. I can also picture him arriving home from work after having walked his mail route in those blistering hot valley summers. That couldn’t have been easy toting all that mail around. He was never going to let his disability stop him from working. In these last few months when he was experiencing more and more pain, I think pride in his job gave my dad a reason to get up and get moving each day. Sometimes my mom would ask him to stay home, but Dad had a job to do.
He always strived to become a Post Master. Finally in 2000 he achieved that goal and became the Post Master at the Santa Rita Park Post Office. It’s a little one-man country post office located off Highway 152, but Dad took great pride in delivering good service. Dad taught me that a good work ethic is important. Be early to work, do a good job, and complete your tasks. His customers are going to miss him.
Dad had a strong belief in God and was a steadfast member of this church since we moved to town back in 1978. He has served on the church council for most of that time. His faith in God never wavered. When times were tough, he never asked why or blamed God. He just continued forward with his faith, believing that God has a reason for everything.
My dad was also a strong believer in education. He saw a need in his community back when my sister and I were in grade school, and decided to run for a seat on the elementary school board. He didn’t get elected on his first try, but that fighting spirit kicked in, and Dad ran again in another election and won a seat on the board. He served the children of Chowchilla for 17 years. He was always a fair man who listened to both sides of any story before making decisions.
My dad was so proud of my sister and me for pursuing higher education. This may be a dangerous thing to say here in Bulldog country, but Dad used to be a diehard USC Trojan fan. However, I can honestly say he switched his allegiance and is a true blood Bulldog fan. A couple of years ago my husband and I took Dad to USC to watch them play against Fresno State. I am proud to say he rooted for the correct team in his Bulldog sweatshirt! He loved going to Fresno State football games or attending a women’s softball game.
However, before Dad was a Bulldog fan, he was a Chowchilla Redskin fan. He used to take us girls to the Friday night games in the fall. My mom always stayed home to watch Dallas! I used to get mad because I longed to be like the other girls who got to walk around the stadium with their friends. My dad would have none of that. We had to sit there on the bleacher right next to him. Now I understand why he would never have dreamed of letting us wander. He didn’t want anything to happen to us. Just last year my family went with my dad to the Chowchilla playoff football game. I was instantly transported back to being a 7-year-old little girl sitting with my dad on a cold Friday night. This particular game was even more special because my oldest son got to be there with his Grandpa.
My dad was married to my mom for nearly 45 years. I don’t think I realized how blessed I was to have two parents who were still married to each other until I moved away to college and met many kids who were from broken families. It gave me such an appreciation for my parents. My dad never left the house without kissing my mom. The words “I love you” were always spoken in our house. Dad was never afraid or too manly to show his emotions.
Dad loved being a dad. We used to joke that he and my mom prayed and prayed for ten years to have kids. He was always happy to have his two girls. He never needed boys to make his family complete. As it turned out, he got his boys in the form of grandkids!
As a little girl, I used to get up with Dad when he would get ready for work. He’d drink his coffee, and he would make me hot chocolate to enjoy. I used to call those mornings my honeymoons with dad. He used to let me stand on a chair behind him and put barrettes in his hair! He was also my fierce protector. He read the riot act to a high school boyfriend informing him that he expects anyone who dates his daughters to treat them like precious gems! I’ll never forget my first date with husband…my dad went along in the backseat! That is fatherly protection!
My sister and my dad had an especially close relationship. My mom and I would joke that they would irritate each other when we were around, but when it was just the two of them, they were best friends. Every year at the Chowchilla Fair, Dad and Tiff would create a garden entry. The two of them loved getting dirty together! Dad and Tiff also had a tradition of going to the Fresno zoo together and enjoying San Francisco 49’er football games on TV while hanging out in our living room.
Dad loved being a grandpa. Eleven years ago when the first of his four grandsons was born, his pride swelled to immense proportions. Grandpa loved getting down on his hands and knees to play with his grandbabies. He was always bringing little toys home from the Post Office to give to the boys. My oldest son carried around his Post Office Sea Lion for months. That sea lion is never leaving my home.
I am so grateful my dad was able to meet all of his grandchildren. It saddens me to know that he won’t see them graduate from high school, get married, or have children of their own, but I know he is looking down on us, his heart still swelling with pride.
I will never forget trips to the lake every summer, Friday nights at the concerts in the park, hiking in Yosemite and joking with my dad to “Go Climb a Rock,” being woken up on Sunday mornings by my dad playing an obnoxious little horn, good old fashioned gospel music blaring through the house getting ready for church, my dad always telling us to “Look at the bird!” while we were driving in the car, him watching old reruns of Lawrence Welk, and his love of hard candy. I think I get my love of candy from him!
There are so many memories. Instead of spending a lot of money when we were kids, my parents would do things like take us to the park. Dad would create obstacle courses for us and time us as we ran around the swings, up the slide, down the slide and back again. I remember Dad giving me quizzes in the car. This was back in the day when seatbelts were optional. I’d hang over the front seat while Dad asked me question after question such as my name, address, and phone number. Even then he was preparing me for life.
To this day I can’t drive by fields of cows without hearing my dad’s voice say, “Hi cow! Thank you for my milk!” And every time we get stopped for a passing train, I have an urge to “pick a color” because as kids we’d each pick a color of train car to count. Dad usually got the ugly colors like brown! I remember going out for Pedro’s Pizza every payday. I remember going to the rodeo every year. Most of all, I just remember my dad always being there. His presence in our lives was solid.
My dad was fighting right up to the very end. As we gathered around his bed in the hospital and told him how much we loved him, even through the sedation and medication, he wiggled his shoulder and made a small sound to let us know he heard us. Dad, I know you are watching and listening right now. We are going to carry on down here until we can be with you again. Maybe you are up there delivering God’s mail. One thing I definitely know is that you are no longer hurting. I love you Daddy.
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Of course after Saturday's memorial service I thought of many more things to write about. I could have talked about my dad and me playing in the handbell choir at church. Dad could barely see the music, but he just pulled the book closer to the edge of the table.
I could also have talked about the time he rescued me when I was left behind from a houseboat trip my freshman year in college. Dad just happened to be in Sacramento for a school board conference. He picked my sad crying self up and let me camp out with him at his hotel for the weekend. That was a special time.
I meant to write about how my dad always gave everyone funny nicknames. He was the one who named my sister Foo Foo and her best friend Stink! Those names literally stuck for years. Both Tiffany and Alison responded to the nicknames when we called them! Dad also drove my Aunt Lesle crazy by calling her Esoog. She always wanted to know what it was. I'm sure he finally told her it was Goose spelled backwards.
I could have talked about my dad's love of animals. He always loved having dogs around the house. He loved our little Dachshund named Cloey. He even took her to work with him. My mom said the other day that Dad probably found Cloey in heaven.
These are just a sprinkling of some of the other memories I could have added. It helps to remember all those good times, so forgive me if I share memories here in future posts.
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