Happy Birthday Dad

Yesterday was Dad's 90th birthday. NINETY! It's amazing to me. Dad was 47 when I was born. I am blessed to have him for my father and blessed that he is still around for my children to know. He taught me in the ways of the Greatest Generation. He never yelled or cussed. He and Mom never fought. He never even raised his voice, but he could (and still can) get an edge to it that told you when the conversation was over.

He'd moved around a lot as a kid. His mother died when he was about 10 and his father was an alcoholic. My grandfather remarried a fantastic woman who raised my dad and his sisters to the best of her ability. He came to Texas City in 1935 for a job at a lumber yard. He had a choice of Texas City or Sterling City. He says when he got off the bus in TC, he would've turned around and gone home if he'd had the money. But he stayed, eventually ending up boarding at the Owens' home--right across the street from a pretty little brunette named Louise. They married in 1942. They had two children--and then--after almost two decades--they had me.

I was spoiled, but not in an over-the-top way. I didn't have to do the work that my brother and sister did. By the time I came along, the house was paid for. We had a dishwasher, clothes washer and dryer, and a woman who came to clean house once a week. Sophronia was her name. (She used to scare me.) But...Mom had to work. When I was a baby, they had a son in college and a daughter in high school--and then me. Yeah, they couldn't even pretend that I was planned. LOL

My father was very strict about a few things--the most important of which was respect for my mother--and by extension, himself. The one thing that would make him angry enough to spank me was for me to disrespect my mother. And it happened. More than once. My mother and I were pretty good at getting into yelling fights--but only when Dad wasn't home. Sometimes Mom would let it go and other times she's "tell on me." And sometimes, I'd forget or not realize that Dad was home. Big OOPS! That's when the belt got unbuckled and I got it across my backside. It wasn't abuse. There was never a mark. I was never hit anywhere but my rear end and never on bare skin. And I learned the lesson.

He worked hard--leaving at 6:00 in the morning and usually coming home around 6:00 in the evening. He worked at Hoffman Lumber Company. I used to love to visit him there. I loved the smell of that little-bitty store, all the hardware and the smell of the wood. He let me play with his big adding machine. I'd pretend I was doing the books and answering phones. (I still do a pretty mean 10-key! But now you don't have to push so hard on the keys!)

He retired during my senior year of high school. He used to pick me up from school. Didn't buy me a car! He'd get there early and watch all the kids leaving the school. He's very observant. He'd could've gone to college, but that wasn't in the cards for him back in the 30's. He hated retirement and went back to work at the same lumber yard the next year. He's worked there ever since.

My dad is a hard worker and cares for people, but he doesn't show much emotion. He certainly didn't show much in his younger years. He's always been very quiet and kept his emotions close to the vest. But I remember sitting in his lap as a child. I remember when he ran over my cat. I know he felt awful,but he didn't apologize that I remember. He just let me sit in his lap and he comforted me. I loved sitting in his lap in his big recliner.

When I went off to college, we couldn't fit everything in the car on the first trip. He brought me my winter clothes--drove from Texas City to Denton and back in one day. He's loaned me money and given me money. He was frugal with his money, but we never wanted for anything. And even had some extras. I remember when he had a tether-ball pole made for me because I loved it. And when I got my own TV for Christmas.

In my adult years, I've certainly come to appreciate more and more who my father is and what he's always stood for. He stands for the right. He stands for service and hard work. He is 90 years old and he works 20 hours a week (or more) at the lumber yard. He is the treasurer for his Lions' Club chapter and is on the administrative board at his church. He gets to the church around 7:00 every Sunday to get the a/c or heat on, doors unlocked and coffee going.

In the last two weeks, he rode out Hurricane Ike all by himself in the same house we all grew up in. He was without power for about a week, but he said that he was doing fine. He picked up ice every couple of days and "I don't have children to feed or worry about here, so I'm okay." On days that he doesn't go in to the lumber yard, he walks two miles around the city's walking path. He's healthy and happy. He misses my mom, but he's comfortable being alone. He stays busy.

My brother and sister and I have a lot to live up to. I'm not sure it's possible. He's set the bar pretty dang high, but he still shows us how to live. I can only hope that I am as healthy and steady as I age.

Thank you, Dad. Thank you for being a great father. Thank you for bailing me out when I needed it (not literally!) and for leaving me to fix my own mistakes when I needed to learn. Thank you for your wise counsel. I love you, Dad. Happy birthday!