Jun. 15, 2003 - 19:11 MDT

THE WONDERING JEW

Our Day

It is the evening on Father's Day 2003, the offspring have departed for home in time to eat their evening meal there. The visiting day started before noon so it was a greatly enjoyed day for me.

I was given the present most desired by this old man, my kids presence. The rest of course is window dressing that makes them happy, but without them though, my day would be made.

About nine this morning our daughter in Oregon made a call to wish me happy Father's Day, while talking to her I opened her card which had an enclosure, a copy of a paper she publishes for her circle of ladies who go to her church. Her title was, "Penny Candy Memories," wherein she brings to light her memories of the little treks to a nearby store which were private to just us. I do so wish she could have the time to write a diary, she does a much better job of writing than I do.

Youngest son appeared first, then oldest son and mate, last on deck was middle daughter, her mate and oldest son. The three of our kids were able to visit with us and each other as a family group. They read our Oregon daughter's card and enclosure. That's all it took to start the reminiscent mill wheel grinding.

Every year I hear more heretofore unknown personal history of our children. Stuff they didn't think their parents were old enough to absorb - you might say. Youngest son in his whispery voice joined in with a few from his remembery, but the show stopper was when oldest son let fall the information that he had been bitten by a rattle snake years ago. He was a dedicated Boy Scout, had his snake bite kit with him and did the appropriate things in quick time. He and his friend were budding herpetologists and spent much time in the swamp near our house chasing snakes and other wild critters. Makes me proud that he had learned the procedure and hastened to make use of his knowledge. Only instance that I ever know that he deliberately cut himself. Middle daughter brought forth a few memories also. One gem was her tale of when she was in junior high and Heather and I were both working days. She recounted something like this, "As soon as I got home from school in the afternoon I would peel a bunch of potatoes, slice them up ready for frying, make and bake bread as fast as ever I could. While the bread was in baking I would start frying potatoes. As fast as they were fried the boys gobbled them down, when the bread was baked and finally cut, the boys destroyed that to the last crumb. They both were huge appetites on legs and I didn't get anthing to eat until Mom cooked supper." That was the time of my life that I would get home from work, empty trash and garbage, go to the store for Heather, eat with the family, take out the trash and garbage and make another trip to the store to replenish the larder before bedtime.

Oh, there was so much more talked about today, all precious memories for our ears.

They all brought presents of course, nothing from Neiman Markup, but nice things. But our progeny's prescence, even without gifts and cards, was what made my day.

Fatherhood, it seems to me that I can look back through the centuries and as far ahead in time as I can conjecture and see that long line of fathers, most of whom worked or will work to their utmost limit to provide for wife and children. It is the nature of the beast I think.

Thinking further it impressed itself on my mind that there is one absolutely essential thing required in the production of a father -- a mate -- you know, the gal who is called Mother. That long line of ladies stretches back to the dawn of time and will probably be still going to the end of time. They inspire a man to do his best.

What a day, how grand it is to be a father, grandfather and a great grandfather (great by title only) and have our kids here with us.

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My entry of last night about Milk Time led Jim Lawrence of Jim's Journal to remember a bit of his early history in school. His entry of June 15th tells about him looking back to the time he had the honor to be a trusted Milk Monitor for his whole school.

Which leads me to recall being picked to fill the trusted position of Safety Patrolman, I think it was in the fifth grade. There was really only one artery near our school, but it was a busy one. A Safety Patrolman (or girl) had a sash and a big round celluloid covered badge saying "SAFETY PATROLMAN" pinned on the front of the sash. The duty was to hold back a few kids and then escort them across the street safely. Motorists were required to stop during that operation too. What an awesome duty that was to me, and responsiblity making sure kids from our school made it safely across the street, then too risking life and limb against the hurtling vehicles was an element of enjoyment also.

Bonnie has similar memories of school too. Recently she had pictures of the old glass milk bottles in her journal which had a picture of a half pint bottle I think. Her Dad had something to do with the dairy. Her url will be in my notify, can't leave this and come back able to find anything.

So with shared lives, Heather and I celebrated Our Day . . . . . . . . .

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