Things we learned

Dear Dad,

You were always teaching.  It was in your heart, your calling.  All the rest was just the "stuff" you had to do in order to pursue your heart's desire.

You were teaching...whether actually sitting down and explaining, or just by doing the right thing in front of us, it was important for you to show your "boys" what being a man was all about.

I remember you as a young man, just a young father, with 3 little boys, the youngest only a year old.  I remember sitting at the dinner table, we all had our place, and yours, "daddy's seat" was the one we all aspired to sit in, but dared not.

I remember learning to whistle at the dinner table, then learning NOT to whistle at the table!

What I remember most was your ability in crisis.  When the youngest suffered a terrible injury at 18 months old, I remember you, a young 28 year old father, springing into action, and perhaps saving his life.

We lived in a small rent house, just outside of Fort Hood, and there was a large dog house in the back yard, probably for a dog the size of a great dane, or some other large dog.  We, the other children were playing "carpenter" in the back yard, with little rubber hammers, pretending to "build a house."

The youngest was inside the house hammering on the roof, so young he was still in a diaper. Suddenly, the roof of the house caved in, and a jagged piece of wood struck him in the side of the head, right in the temple.  He collapsed and we began to scream.  I was 4 years old, my older brother was 6, and the neighbor boy was 8.   You ran out of the house, saw what was happening, picked up your baby, saw the horrible wound, and immediately grabbed a cloth to put pressure on the bleeding.

By the way, it was 1964.

You used a handkerchief, and later I learned the wound was so large you were able to fold the handkerchief and insert the entire cloth into the wound, packing it to add pressure to slow the bleeding.

There was no 911, no time to call the operator and ask for an ambulance, just you throwing the keys to our neighbor and telling him to drive while you held your infant son in your lap on the way to the hospital.  You told us how you held him and cried out to God to keep your baby alive while you kept applying pressure to the terrible wound in his head.

Later, we learned your quick action saved his life, the doctors applauded you.

He was going to be okay.

The next time I saw you, you were bringing your baby home, it was several hours later and you were older than before you left.

You were tired, shirt still covered in your child's blood, but he was okay.

I remember that night, it was just the 5 of us, your 3 boys, our mother, and you.

The baby was lying in his crib, sleeping.

You were holding me and my older brother, we were watching television, and we were a family.

Even after a crisis, the most important thing to you was to keep the family intact, to keep the structure, the routine, the safety and the peace.

It was good...even after a crisis, it was good.

We knew you were strong, smart, and braver than any man alive.

Nobody could do anything to us that our dad could not fix.  The family was eternal.

Through years, there were more situations when your quick thinking and action saved us again, automobile accidents, injuries from sports, injuries in the front yard (we were VERY active boys - and liked to play HARD!).

You were always there.

You always made the wrongs right, you always took care of us.

We learned real men step up to the plate and deliver what is needed, when it is needed, and move back into the shadows, allowing the world to continue on its path.

We learned real heroes are just regular guys that make the right decisions in crisis.

We learned to prepare for a crisis we had to spend time learning the right things.  It was a lot of discipline, but the right stuff is never easy.

So now, when hard times come, we do the right stuff.

There are no other options available.

And when it is over, we hold our families close, and when no one is looking, we cry, remembering the man that taught us by example, and wonder if it felt bittersweet to you also when the crisis ended.

For a moment, we are no longer standing as men, but we are little boys, in the arms of our hero father, and it feels good.