Father's Day

This weekend we celebrate dads. One might think it unimportant to me as my dad has been dead since 1983. That is not the case. I can celebrate yet today because of the things he taught me.

My dad had to become 'the man of the house' at a very young age. His father was killed in a logging accident when my dad was in the third grade. That is when he had to quit school and work to help support the family. He had a very strong work ethic and was an honorable man who did right because it was right to do, not because he was forced to do so. He worked hard and although he had to quit school he had a longing to learn. He read books. In fact, when I was a young girl he went to an auction and bought a complete library of books. It was in an estate sale. Some of those books are still in my possession, not nearly all of them as through the years they were sold or discarded for one reason or another.

Without a formal education my dad continued to learn. At the end of his life he had learned to speak at least two foreign languages. He had a diploma hanging over the fireplace in his study which showed he had finished a fingerprinting course.

He migrated from Kentucky to Ohio in the early 20's to find work to provide for his family, which was now a wife, two children and one on the way. He labored as a tenant farmer during my growing-up years. He was known by everyone as an honest and fair man. He worked as a custodian of a cemetery where he is now buried. He was in the Armed Forces and served as a cook while stationed in Panama. He in fact baked the wedding cake for the Panamanian president while he was there. I still have his cookbook from that time. After leaving the Army he was involved with the National Guard and served with them for several years.

When I was only twelve, he started a new venture. With the help of the entire family he purchased a local restaurant. All of us had some kind of work and put our money in to help pay the down payment. This was the first of five restaurants he owned. In the meantime he was employed at our local police force. He was successful at everything he tried. He worked hard to realize his ambitions.

I look back at his life and see the pain he endured. First his father was killed. His little brother fell in an open fireplace and died from the burns. My dad was the one that had to pull his little brother out of that fire. He had one sister who died in childbirth. Another brother was killed in a motor vehicle accident. His mother also died as the result of an automobile accident. That left only one brother, who died later in life, but before my dad. It seemed everybody he loved was taken from him in a violent manner. His oldest son, my brother was killed in the Korean Conflict, on Pork Chop Hill. I do not remember my father shedding a tear, though I am sure he did. It was years later I finally saw my father cry. That was when my husband was killed in a trucking accident. It seemed to be more than he could bear up under. I cried with him.

He was indeed a mighty man. He was proud of his heritage, but did not flaunt it. You see, his mother was a descendant of Francis Scott Key, the writer of our National Anthem. It was not until this past summer than I discovered a handwritten copy of those famous words on a very old parchment paper. It had been hidden away in a box of letters and cards. It was this connection to the history that helped make my father proud to say he was an American. His lineage was immersed in the field of the law. His grandfather was a judge, and others in his ancestry line were lawyers, judges and the most famous of all was the Attorney for the District of Columbia. Many people only know the famous poem he wrote. He was much more than a poet.

Yes, I celebrate Father's Day by remembering what I was taught by my dad. He was and is yet today very special to me.