My Dad
My Dad
By Margaret E. Holt aka Snooks
My Dad was 20 years old when I was born in 1947, and the
next month he turned 21. I
remember him constantly working on his trucks and cars. I think we got our first television
when I was 11 or 12. He
liked the old Westerns like Gunsmoke.
His work as a truck driver meant he was away from home a lot leaving my
Mom with the responsibilities of the household and over time 5 kids. We never had much money, but in the
fair and festival seasons they would take us to see the sites and buy us a
hotdog and coca cola. We spent a
lot of time looking at new tractors.
He also liked to hangout in hardware stores. He’d get paid every Friday, so we would ride to Canton and
sit impatiently in the car with Mom for a couple of hours while he chatted with
the guys in the terminal. Then
once MacDonalds came into existence we’d be treated to a 15 cents
hamburger.
I went off to college in 1965 at age 18, and really only
lived at home again for a few short holidays. My sisters and brothers actually have many more stories
because they had him in their lives so much longer. He was a good hunter, so we enjoyed the bounty. I even assisted on occasion with
skinning and cleaning rabbits but realized there wasn’t a future in this.
I generally think he liked me but I know I frustrated
him. I just couldn’t pretend to
have a passion for cars or other automated systems. I’ve never known how many miles to the gallon I got, but he
always knew those details.
I admire his frugality. He has left us with no debt, and we all know that he was
extremely careful with his spending.
That said, I wish he would have enjoyed life a little more. Maybe he did, and I just didn’t see
it. He did seem to like traveling
with his camper.
The only time he ever upset me and all of the other kids in
the neighborhood, was when he drove through the deep snow on Pickle Road with
his big truck making it possible for the school bus to get through.
I am sorry I cannot be with all of you today. My husband, Stell, had two bouts in the
hospital last year with pneumonia, and although he is home now and much
improved, he cannot travel and he needs me with him. I want to first personally thank my brother Bill and sister
Robin and their families for being “there” and taking care of his needs. The hospice caregivers are truly angels
in disguise. In the past I watched
them care for our late sister, Becky, with professional compassion. And Deputy Keith Schilling, you are
model police officer and never forgotten friend who kindly looked in on our Dad
over several years.
92 years – a good long Green life -He produced five
children, who produced five grandchildren, and so far six
great-grandchildren. May his
genes be with us.
posted by Margaret Holt | 9:36 AM
|
0 comments
