Lessons From My Father

I was 10 when I realized my friends didn’t have homework in the summer. Maybe my siblings didn’t either. My dad was constantly teaching and challenging us in a thousand ways. One day, while living in Georgia, I got a box in the mail that had scalpels, forceps, and two vacuum packed frogs, with anatomy charts to boot! I am pretty sure we had the only frog dissecting party that Moody Air Force Base Family Housing has ever seen.

My dad loved to quote one of the leaders of our church who said,”If you educate a man, you educate one person, but if you educate a woman, you educate generations.” And then he would put it in his own words—“Plus, nobody wants a dumb mother.” He firmly believed that we should never stop learning. So I wanted to share a few lessons he taught me—most of them consisting of 10 words or less.

“Got your boots on?” This was a question we all dreaded hearing. It was NOT rhetorical. Even at 10:00 at night when you were in bed. It meant that someone needed something and he needed a volunteer/helper. Dad remembered the widows and the elderly. Shoveling snow, Christmas Eve concerts for the elderly, visits to those in nursing homes. He showed up. And took us with him. Or Scouts. I mostly hated it. The smell. And those people were old! And I hated playing the violin. And it was awkward. But my dad just quietly showed me how to serve others with no fanfare or thought of praise or credit.

Once, when I was a young mother, I strapped my baby into his car seat and got ready to pick up my husband from work. Our car had a dying battery. No problem! I had seen my husband push start this thing and then kick it in gear as it rolled down the hill for a week. I could totally handle it. Except my legs weren’t QUITE as strong as his. So I got out of the car, and pushed it from the front. I KNOW. AND YES, IT TOTALLY WORKED! But then it kept rolling and we lived at the top of a steep hill, and my car was about to go crashing down the hill WITH MY BABY SECURELY FASTENED INTO HIS CAR SEAT and then the front wheels caught on the curb. I threw the door open and grabbed my son and then tried not to freak out. My dad heard about this, and a few days later, we got a check in the mail for just about the price of a new battery. No note. Just a check. Just a dad quietly trying to help out his starving-college-student-daughter and family. (On a totally unrelated note, this illustrates why I am never a contender for mother of the year)

There always seems to be a personality transformation as people die and they all of a sudden become “angels” who “never raise their voices”. I know if that is said at my funeral, you can leave…because you are at some other lady’s funeral! My father was like the god of the Old Testament. I was always a little terrified of him. We didn’t know that Dad had to fight a battle that he didn’t know he was fighting for many years. He had Major Depressive Disorder most of his adult life without being aware of it. This MDD took its toll on our family and our relationship. I was in college when he was diagnosed and began to be treated. I was happy for him and felt that he was happier, but I didn’t really understand the depths of his lifelong battle. When I was diagnosed with the same disease in my late 20s, I gained not just perspective and compassion for my father, but admiration at his ability to work, raise five children, and not become a serial killer. And when I found myself with a deployed husband, a newborn baby and two monkeys who set the fridge on fire on Christmas Day, I took a breath and told myself that my dad fought this mental health battle for almost thirty years without help. So I could plan on calling my doctor, but I could also do hard things, because my father had done them, too.

Of course, the hard things weren’t over for him, and I watched as he tried to battle the devastating illness that took his mind and his life. He still had that determination, though. One day my mom went to get pizza for some church kids who were painting the fence and she took dad with her. He wanted to wander around in CAL Ranch while she delivered the pizza. She thought he would be fine, which was her first mistake, so she left him. At this point, he wasn’t super mobile, so he got in the store scooter, and then realized that he had a MODE OF TRANSPORTATION! So he promptly took that bad boy on the road in the direction of the Wendy’s drive-through window. Cut back to mom who arrived at the store. Shockingly, her husband who has dementia and a motorized scooter is nowhere to be found. She starts to drive around town and finally locates him at the thrift store about half a mile away. Yes, you read that right. He went on a half mile joyride, parked it on the sidewalk right in front of the door OG-style and was wandering around when she got there.

But that’s not even the best part of the story! The BEST part of the story, is that she MADE HIM DRIVE IT BACK TO THE OTHER STORE. Because if she called the store, they might have traced her cell number, and then arrested them…what?!! Then ensued the SLOWEST getaway in all of time. Because it took my dad about seven-and-a-half minutes to get in the car. These two are the worst criminals ever. But they can do hard things.

Saying I love you without words

My dad never said “I love you” to me. Verbally. But he said it in a thousand other ways. One morning in high school, my blow dryer broke. This was before dry shampoo and febreeze, so I was washing my hair at a ridiculous hour so I could get ready for seminary before school (also held at a ridiculous hour) and I also had to practice my violin in the morning at an equally ridiculous hour. For a few days, I was getting up at an even MORE ridiculous hour. My dad asked why I was up so ridiculously early and I told him about my blow dryer’s demise. A day or two later, he just walked in to my room and tossed something on my bed and walked out. A new blow dryer.

He also ate my fried egg chocolate cake, which you can read about HERE.

Once, he got back from fishing with a friend at about 10:00 at night and got right back in his car to take me and my two babies back to Utah so I could reunite with my husband as soon as he landed after our first separation in the Air Force. Maybe he didn’t say it out loud, but his actions shouted the words.

Dad spent countless hours in the service of his ancestors and those of everyone he met. He spent so much time learning the stories of those who came before him. I didn’t love checking out cemeteries or looking at microfiche, but I realized that to him, these were REAL PEOPLE WITH REAL LIVES AND REAL EXPERIENCES. They were individuals who lived and died and did all kinds of amazing things. He taught me that No one deserves to be forgotten. The ONE matters as much as the 99.

He taught me how to look to the Savior.

By showing me how to serve, how to learn, how to endure, how to love, and how to seek after the one, he taught me the most important lesson of all: how to follow the Savior.

My dad didn’t stand and share his testimony verbally often—but the way he lived his life, it was clear that he knew God lives. That Jesus Christ is our Redeemer. That they love us and have given us a way back home. That families really can be forever—even when we make each other crazy. But most of all, that the Savior knows each of us, by name, and that we matter to Him.

Thanks for all the lessons, Dad.

I see you like this, now. Except, I know you’re not eating cake. You’re fishing. And teaching someone the scientific name of that fish. And the tree they’re standing next to. And why leaves turn orange. And what kinds of clouds are in the sky…