My Father and His Father Before Him

My father is stoic. When he talks we listen. Reserved are the thoughts, poised for the right time. His wisdom is simple yet profound. His ethics are unbreakable. My father's mental capacity is an immovable force. He lost his father, my grandad, at the age of 13. The son of two depression-era children, he learned how to be capable and complete without any preparation. Hours sweating in a field, to help feed my aunts and my grandmother for years. At 13 he was burdened with the task of helping to prepare a life for three women that grown mature men are subject to endure. My father is quiet. My father is loving. My Dad doesn't judge, nor does he condescend. He is not without fault, but if our fathers are our models for God, then God is iridescent and complete. He once told me...in his logic, that the key to life is very simple yet profoundly difficult. He told me that life is successfully navigated by simply doing the right thing. No matter how hard, always do the right thing...no hesitation or wavering. I have tried to live by that. Failed around every corner, but have tried.

My Dad cut timber rows in Colorado to free up river passages down the Colorado River. He fought forest fires in Idaho during college, living on little more than beef strips and rice in the Rocky Mountains. He worked in Saskatchewan, Canada, learning all the wonders of the outdoors. He put himself through college and provided for my family when we were a young family starting out and were shit poor. He married my mother and has been a model of matrimony and sacrament to her throughout the years. My Dad taught me how to throw a baseball. He taught me to respect women. He taught me that at times we won't understand women, but to treat them kindly and offer support, and they will in turn, be faithful and mindful to you. He taught me not to settle for anything less. He taught me to respect nature, and it's power....and the wreckless power that we hold over it. He taught me that patience is one of the most important facets of life. He taught me to pray. He taught me that life is hard, but it's important to give every effort to be harder. He taught me that life is beautiful, and to take time to enjoy the pleasantries. He taught me how to be a man.

My grandmother on my mother's side, towards the end of her life, became very philanthropic with her thought processes. She wanted to bestow something great to a service which had helped her through very dark days...even though her mind might have been off-center of right. My mother and father had only been married for a short time. My grandmother wanted to sell the family ranch to a charity, while noble, almost succeeded in depriving her children of their inheritance and the lot of land that my grandfather had built and sculpted with his bare hands. Hours and hours of frustrated pleas by my mother and her brothers got them nowhere in diverting her intentions. After she had solidified her stance with her children, ceasing anymore of their pleas, she turned to my father and asked him what his advice might be on the matter. In typical fashion, he sat there quietly observing, replied by saying, it's not for me to advise, but your husband poured his life on this land. I think it would be a mistake for you to let it go. My grandmother simply replied, "okay....I won't." My father is sincere, and out of his sincerity comes the respect that others have for him.

My father is faithful, in all facets of the word. He is a man. He is the quality of man I hope to become. He is cut from a cloth of persistence and faithfulness. He is a provider and I've found him to be more wise over the years. He's proud of his son and daughter, and he let's them know this. Despite their many faults. We differ in innumerable ways, but by blood we are the same. He is my hero.