On this Father's Day, I remember, Dad.
I remember, Dad, every spring you getting all us kids kites and taking us over to Swecker's field to fly them. You always had a box kite.
I remember, Dad, how you would come home from working at the mines with coal dust from head to toe and go to the basement to shower.
I remember, Dad, you carpooled with fellow miners. I remember one particular day when you came home and told Mom that a couple of your fellow miners were killed that day in an accident at work.
I remember, Dad, you and Mom having friends over on Saturday evening to watch the fights or play Rook.
I remember, Dad, your famous fudge--gritty and sometimes hard as a rock, but the best fudge I've ever had.
I remember, Dad, that even after working in the mines five or six days a week, you found the time to build onto our little house, making it big enough for all of us. You build the basement and I remember, Dad, you building the rooms above the basement and onto the front of the house. I don't know how you did it, Dad.
I remember, Dad, you always had a garden every year. You grew rhubarb, but never ate it. When I asked you why, you said because it looked good. One day you were planting something in the garden and I asked what, and you said pickles. Not knowing any different, I asked if they were sweet or dill pickles. I think that was when you chased me out of the garden.
I remember, Dad, you making a peach run to Romney toward the end of the summer. You'd take a pickup truck and come back with it loaded with peaches that you and Mom sold at the store. You also made runs for apples too. Now I made runs to Romney for peaches and apples. They are the best!
I remember, Dad, you taking all of us on Sunday drives and having picnics at a roadside park.
I remember, Dad, you being in the Ruitan Club and one year, when Mom was still alive, I rode on the float, along with the children of other Club members, in a parade in Philippi.
I remember, Dad, you taking us bowling on Sundays afternoons.
I remember, Dad, that you could say the ABCs quicker backward than forward.
I remember, Dad, you going hunting--squirrel, rabbit, deer.
I remember, Dad, your favorite chair. You would never have to ask any of us to move, we KNEW!
I remember, Dad, how you fought to keep us kids together after Mom died. You won, and I believe you did a pretty darn good job for a man in his 40's with four kids at home.
I remember, Dad, the first Christmas without Mom. It was hard on all of us, but you did a great job. You gave me a bonnet-style hair dryer. I still have it and it's in great shape even after all its use.
I remember, Dad, how you helped me learn to cook. I was only 12 or 13 and had to cook for you, Jim and Junior. We never had anything fancy, but you taught me a lot.
I remember, Dad, how you had to take me to emergency room again and again. You grumbled, but you made sure I was okay. I was always climbing (and falling out of) trees, racing bicycles, jumping on horses bareback and getting thrown off.
I remember, Dad, going to Clyde & Maude's after I had the bicycle accident. Maude did a little dance and chant around me. I guess it was for healing, but it scared me.
I remember, Dad, when you married Elma and gave me two more brothers and a sister instantly. I wasn't happy about it at first, but we became one family.
I remember, Dad, one Thanksgiving you were in the hospital. I baked a turkey overnight and got up early and packed the whole dinner in my car and drove it to the hospital so you could have a home-cooked Thanksgiving dinner. When I brought it in, you grunted a little and said you'd wait to see what the hospital was serving. After all that work, you didn't want it!
I remember, Dad, as you got older, your driving ability lessened. I was hearing about accidents you had. One was almost hitting a person who was raking leaves in his own yard! Another time, you hit a utility pole in a parking lot and got a concussion from hitting the windshield. When I came home to visit, I noticed your car didn't have any exterior missors or trim from you side-swiping things. When it became apparent you couldn't drive anymore, the state police revoked your license.
I remember, Dad, me driving from Maryland (5 hours) to WV to pick you up to take you to Ohio (another 5 hours) for Porky's graduation party. We had to make stops along the way so you could get a beer out of the cooler in the back. Needless to say, I was tired by the time we go there. Then, after a couple of hours, you came up and told me that you were ready to go home! Go home?? I just drove over 10 hours! I told you that if you wanted to go home to call Greyhound because this bus wasn't leaving until morning.
I remember, Dad, calling you every week or so and how you stammered through those conversations.
I remember, Dad, the day you died. It was a Thursday. I had just been to WV to see you the previous Sunday. I remember going to the funeral home to make the arrangements. All the kids were there except Junior and he was on his way. When the family was able to see you, your hair was all wrong. I combed your hair the way you wore it and changed the watch you were wearing. Why you needed a watch, I don't know.
I remember, Dad, that your will specified that everything, including the house, was to be sold at auction and the proceeds divided between the 8 kids. Expecting the house and all the furnishings to be sold at auction, I said goodbye to the place. Brother Jim climbed to the top of one of the pine trees Mom had planted and got me some pine cones so I could have a small piece of the place. I left, not returning for the auction or expecting to return. When the house didn't sell at auction, Donna Jo and I came up with a plan to buy it. Somehow we scraped up the money and kept the old place in the family. Now, after almost 17 years, I am the sole owner. Jim and his family lived there for 12 years. After several years of renovations, it's my "home away from home" again. I want it kept in the family and intend to will it to my grandson.
It's hard to believe that almost 17 years have passed since you left us. When I walk through the house, you are there too. I remember when you put the floors down, had the paneling put in and when you built the basement. I think of you when I see that old furnace--still working!
You may be gone, but I remember you, Dad.