Insights into my enigmatic father's active life
- Bruce Stambaugh: The Rural View
- June 16, 2021
- 1114
I don’t need a designated day to remind me of my late father. I see him in many of my machinations and manners. I walk, talk and too often behave much as he did. I’m still working on that.
Understand me, though, that I loved my father unconditionally. It just took me too long to realize I spent too much of my adolescent and young adult life trying to earn his affection when affection wasn’t his thing. I finally realized Dad was already sharing his love in how he lived his life.
Dad had many interests. In his nearly nine decades of living, he squeezed in an array of activities. Unfortunately, assisting our dear mother around the house wasn’t high on his list.
My father had Ichabod Crane’s physique and Rip Van Winkle’s spirit. At 6 foot, 2 inches in his prime, Dad was tall for his era. But his skinny build gave him a gangly appearance.
Dad was athletic and energetic, especially when it came to having fun. He loved to tell stories of dancing with Mom at Moonlight Ballroom in Meyers Lake Park in Canton. We played “Moonlight Serenade” at his memorial service as he danced into glory.
However, the only time I ever physically saw him dance was with Mom at a niece’s wedding. Though in their 80s, they glided across the floor as if they were 20.
Dad loved to tell stories. When we lived in Ohio, I would occasionally run into people who knew my father. Their complimentary comments often referenced Dad’s storytelling.
I always acknowledged Dad was indeed a great storyteller and that some of those stories were actually true. I always smiled when I said it, though.
By profession Dad was a project engineer. He helped build the red-brick bungalow where he and our mother raised their family. His pride and joy, though, was the inviting cottage he and Mom built at Clendening Lake.
Although he couldn’t swim, Dad enlisted in the Navy in World War II. He did so because the Great Lakes Naval Base was only hours from home. However, he found himself in the engine room of the U.S.S. San Diego in the Pacific theater.
After the war Dad worked on submarine missiles and was part of a team that designed a new gondola for the Goodyear blimp. Yet projects around home went unfinished or were patch jobs. His favorite tool was duct tape.
Dad loved social gatherings. He took it upon himself to organize family reunions. He also once planned his high school class reunion and then forgot to go.
Dad and Mom visited us frequently in Holmes County. His pretense was to see his grandchildren, but he spent his time scouring fields for arrowheads. In his excitement to show us what he had found, Dad tracked dirty footprints into the house.
Even as cancer overtook his body, Dad’s passion for life remained. He was ready to go but didn’t want to leave this life he loved.
Though unconscious, the hospice nurse encouraged me to tell Dad it was alright to let go. So I did.
Dad’s reaction didn’t surprise me. Unable to speak or open his eyes, he just waved me away. I took it as an indication he wanted to die on his terms and time. And that is what he did. Early the following morning while the nurse left his side for five minutes, Dad took his final breath.
I don’t need Father’s Day to remind me of my father, but I am thankful for the day and my dad nonetheless.
Bruce Stambaugh writes about nature, weather, hobbies and people, often using personal experiences. Much to their dismay, he also writes about his family. He uses humor and pathos when he can’t think of anything else to include. To read more The Rural View, visit Stambaugh at www.thebargainhunter.com.