My Dad - An Original Hipster

Father's Day seems like a good time to share a few stories and memories of my Dad.

As the oldest child in the family, I was blessed to have lots of one-on-one time with my Dad.  When I was three we lived across the street from Drake University, in Des Moines, Iowa, where he was a professor.  Sometimes he would take me to his office on campus.  I remember walking past the dry cleaners with the giant, rotating hanger. Crisp autumn leaves were everywhere and I loved crunching them as we walked hand in hand towards the brick buildings.  He showed me some of the audio visual equipment he used in his classes and I got to meet some of the people he worked with.  At that moment I knew I wanted to go to college some day!

I remember my dad reading me Puss and Boots and editing another of my books that mentioned "bad tasting medicine."  Apparently he didn't want me refusing to take medicine.  Dad taught me to read before I went to kindergarten using homemade flashcards.  He started with rhyming words like cat, mat, sat and bat.  In first grade, I was bored with the work in my class.  My dad encouraged me to talk to my teacher and ask her for extra assignments.  Years later I learned that my teacher was one of my dad's students at the university, and not one of his better students.  He was concerned about my education and considered having me moved to another class, but instead he helped me learn to work with my teacher and seek challenges beyond the "Dick and Jane" readers we used in class.

Dad was never a handy-man, but he lovingly built and painted an A-frame clubhouse in the backyard for my brother Scott and I. Dad got a large garden plot on some land a few miles from our house.  He planted a garden and taught us to weed and water it. He took us with him and mom when they had assignments to de-tassel corn at the church welfare farm.  We just played, but we saw how hard they worked.

Dad's home teaching route covered many miles and sometimes he took me along to visit the widows.  I loved that special time with him.  Often on the way home from church my dad would ask a trick question.  "Would you like to stop for an ice cream cone?" or "Should we go to the drive in movie tonight?"  Of course, the right answer was, "No, Daddy.  It's Sunday and we keep the Sabbath day holy."  He often gave me little quizzes. "How much tithing would you owe if you earned $4.00?"  Math wasn't my favorite subject, but I figured it out and gave Dad the answer.  Dad was the bishop of our ward when I turned eight and I thought it was wonderful that he gave me my baptismal interview.

When I was almost eleven years old, Dad took a sabbatical from the university and our family moved to California.  He bought a temporary employment agency.  The next summer when I turned twelve, I started working for him.  At first I just stuffed envelopes, but soon he had me practicing on an adding machine and filing papers.  Later I learned to type invoices and do other paperwork.  Eventually I became the receptionist, answering the phones in a professional voice that my sister still calls my "fake voice." Beginning in high school I worked every day after school and full time in the summer.  As a young adult I interviewed potential employees, filled orders for clients and trained employees in word processing and data entry.  Dad told me to call him "Bob" while we were in the office. He taught me to work hard, be diplomatic and interact with all different kinds of people.

When I went off to college, my dad wanted to make sure I was prepared in every way!  I was one of the few people in my dorm to have a computer.  Dad also gathered a little tool kit for me.  I was the only girl in my dorm with a screwdriver, pliers and a hammer.  They came in very handy when we discovered that our window had a "safety feature" and would only open a couple of inches.  Safety was no match for my tool kit and I promptly broke fixed the window so that it opened all the way.  Soon my tools and I were in demand and I  was helping girls all over our floor fix their windows.  How else were we supposed to have long conversations with boys (who were forbidden in the dorms except on certain Sundays during visiting hours) who passed by?

Even better than the tool kit, were the letters my dad wrote to me when I was away at BYU.  He gave me advice about school, life and marriage.  My dad worked hard to teach and guide me.  He provided me with countless opportunities to learn and grow.  Sometimes I resisted his efforts, like the time I stubbornly refused to learn the state capitols during a road trip, or the time I refused to ride an ATV on the sand dunes during a family vacation. But most of the time I listened and learned.  I am grateful to my dad for his loving guidance.  I have never doubted his love and concern for me.

Happy Father's Day Dad!  I love you!