My father was a gracious man. He never left the table without thanking the cook for the meal. Early in life he made a conscious decision to never complain. When he passed away after a few years in a care facility the staff said the appreciated his positive attitude and said he never complained.

My father lived through hard times. The death of his first wife left him with four young children to raise. He took pride in the fact he lived through the Dirty Thirties and was able to support his family while many others had to turn to the government for assistance.

Dad as a young father:

He taught me many things. How to drive, how to identify birds, the enjoyment of history, and how to handle a firearm. He taught me a love for the Bible.

One of my fondest memories is the years we spent living ‘on the road’ with him and Mom as he working and camped far from town in order to build and maintain roads. We lived in a primitive bunkhouse. I don’t know how my mother coped but as children we saw it as a giant adventure.

A typical bunkhouse such as we stayed in:

I say much of this every Father’s Day in honor of my father. I will likely, without apology, continue to say it on a yearly basis.

My dad has been gone for a few years now but the lessons he taught and—more importantly, lived—endure.