The Strongest Man I'll Ever Know Is My Dad -

Today is Sunday and also Father’s Day.  As a kid that meant making a card during the last week of school, one that was to be kept a secret until Father’s Day arrived.  Now as an adult woman, Father’s Day is the day for me to tell my Dad that he is the strongest man that I will ever know.

Does a man become a Father on the day his child is born? I don’t think so. I think on that day he becomes responsible for the care and support of a human being.  I think a man becomes a Father when his child loves him and I have always loved my Dad.

I was lucky to have a Dad that was, and still is, a hard worker.  He was poor growing up being born into a large family living in the south. He went without much. He once told me, “You kids will never go without a thing.” I had no idea what that simple sentence would turn out to mean for me in my lifetime.

I was not a child of privilege.  Money was available but we rarely went out to eat, vacationed in a hotel or flew as a family until much later in our lives.

We had new “school clothes” each school year and all of the required and wanted school supplies. We came home from school and we were instructed and trained to take off our “school clothes” and change into our “play clothes.”  We were told to always keep our toys and large play things in the backyard and, for God’s sake, never leave the garage door open any longer than necessary, as an open garage was ugly to the people passing by on the street. We always had bikes, not new ones, but bikes constructed by an old man named Bill, built using old bikes that had been tossed away. So from my Dad I learned the value of reusing things.

From my Father I learned the love of flowers.  We always had a beautiful yard, no matter which house we lived in.  I learned from my Father about patience and paying for things as you go along. We moved to Brighton in 1969 and my Dad and Mom built a beautiful colonial home. It was most beautiful from the road, landscaped beautifully from a lot that I watched him clear and level with his bare hands.  It was complete with a gaslight, asphalt drive, and shutters.  Many people drove by that house looking at it, as it was one of Brighton’s first subdivision homes. Many people thought that our family was “rich.”  I always marveled at that rumor because there was a small 1960 style camper in the front yard and that is where we prepared our meals. See, our home was beautiful on the outside but the inner walls, dividing the rooms, were not even in place. That would be illegal now but our family of five slept in the family room for nearly a year until each part of the building process could be paid for. The house became beautiful on the inside and it was in that house that I was given away by my Father to my husband.  We were married in that beautiful backyard with a stairway perfect for a bride, also built by my Dad.

I was able to enjoy four years of college with no debt as my Dad worked two jobs to give me that great opportunity. I have loved and retired from a fulfilling career as a teacher because of the dedication of my Father. I know he went without lots, always giving to his children first.

When I married I learned that he was the “go to man” for advice as to should I buy that house or not?  I remember fondly getting broken concrete from the McDonald’s parking lot one summer, loading it into the truck with him and then unloading it again at our Huron River property to support a deteriorating break wall.

On that same property I watched my Father build us a beautiful two-car garage out of barn wood from a barn that he had purchased in Grand Rapids, tore down, loaded and hauled to Brighton and then used to build me that garage.

Years later I would move to our 1910 stone farmhouse and watch him disassemble that garage and rebuild it on our property at the new house. I laugh now thinking about how he moved me into the stone house in his pickup truck, as we did not have much.  We even took the deck off of the house and my Dad drove that deck to our new house traveling down Rickett Road ever so slowly.

While we were redoing that stone farmhouse my Father would work all day at his labor job, then join me and others and work late into each night and weekend on the stone house. Our bathroom has wormwood siding from a barn taken apart by my Father.  I remember watching him sand off layers of linoleum in our old kitchen because we all just knew that there were beautiful hardwood floors under those layers. A Black and Decker floor sander had to be replaced many times.  My Dad NEVER took payment for any of these projects and I doubt if I ever said “thank you” often enough. My Dad also taught me to enjoy good adult beverages.

He has been a wonderful grandfather to my two children and a wonderful great-grandfather to my two grand daughters. I have no doubt that he will be a wonderful great-grandfather to our third granddaughter soon to arrive.

The past three years have caused him many health challenges and extended hospital.  Exploratory testing followed by surgeries would have taken the life of many-a--man in his late 70’s - but not my Dad.  Through all of this, he has remained strong emotionally and physically, even returning to his job as a bagger at a grocery store in town.

So on this day, Father’s Day, I want to publicly say, “Thank you, Dad.  Thank you for always being there for me. You are without a doubt, the strongest man that I will ever know and I love you.”