Friday, August 17, 2012
My dad was a farmer. He grew in Montana plowing, planting, herding, and fixing. He also played the accordion. I remember banging on tin pans as his percussionist while he practiced in the basement. My brothers and sisters and I loved to dance to his lively jigs.
One of my favorite memories was when I was five. He took me with him to harvest. I sat with him in the cabin of the combine looking out the windows. Now this may seem boring, but I loved it. It was just me and my dad. And then for lunch he let me eat a whole tomato. A whole tomato all to myself!
He read to us. I loved gathering around him as he read, "The Little House on the Prairie", or Dr. Sues or the scriptures.
My dad set such a good example to me. He taught me hard work. (I'd have to get up at 3:30AM to help milk cows.) He taught me the worth of an individual is great. (He never set himself up as the center of attention for any kind of gathering, but he'd often find one person and find out how that person was.) He taught me faith. (Every morning and evening he gathered his family together for prayer.) He taught me to forgive. (If I fought with any of my siblings he would sit us in chairs facing each other. There was only one rule. We weren't allowed to laugh. I think I broke first pretty much every time.)
Here's to my dad. Dad, I love you.