To Err Is Human...To Forgive Is Divine

One of the most shocking discoveries upon becoming an adult was learning that Dad wasn't perfect.  For a long time, I assumed that Dad was a bit God-like:  omniscient and omnipotent.  I wouldn't say the fear of those powers were what kept me on the straight and narrow for the majority of my youthful years, but the idea of his possible disappointment in me definitely contributed to my motivation to make good choices.  Years later, when some bad behavior and choices went undetected by Dad, the perk of avoiding his disappointment, not to mention his judgment and punishment, came at the cost of realizing he was human after all.

I think when he finally became aware of my actions and the consequences of my behavior, he was blindsided.  As baffled as I was by his surprise, I was more bewildered by the absence of any anger.  Instead, he was immensely concerned about me and offered me advice and help.  There was no question of his forgiveness because it was automatic.  After the dust had settled, I remember asking him why he was never suspicious of who I was with or where I was going.

"Dad!  You've been a bishop! You've been in a stake presidency!  You are a lawyer!  You understand human nature and that people get in trouble and do dumb things!" I reasoned.

"But those are stupid people!" Dad replied.  "And my children are not stupid people."

I still smile when I think of his response.  I love the faith he has in his children.   He may not be omniscient or omnipotent but he is merciful and full of charity... quite Godlike after all.

Self-Fullfilling Prophesies

Dad does not enjoy eating out.  Contributing to his cantankerous attitude towards the restaurant industry is the loud music played at many establishments, poor lighting, poor service and, of course, the inflated expense.  But, he claims that the thing that prevents him from enjoying restaurants the most is the quality of the food.  It’s just not as good as homemade.  

It might be due to how he requests it.  On one of his less agreeable outings, I recall Dad choosing a hamburger for dinner at a Red Robin or restaurant like it with multiple hamburger varieties on its menu.  

When the waitress came to take our order, he responded, “I just want a plain hamburger!”  He even made some slightly aggressive hand motions to emphasize his point.  

The food arrived and his burger sat there unadorned.  “It doesn’t come with onions?  Or tomatoes?  Or lettuce?” he complained.  

“Dad, you ordered it plain.  Remember?”  

He didn’t like his burger.  Surprise, surprise.  :)

The Boys’ Memories of Grandpa

Seth:

One of my memories of Grandpa took place at our house in Edgemont Ranch. Grandpa had come to visit us. Sam and I were of on summer break and we were horsing around and having a good time outside. During Grandpa’s stay with us, Sam and I were trying to see which one of us could complete this short little bike course on Henry’s tricycle. The course was a hill from our drive way to a little roundabout, the roundabout itself and them the hill again, but this time you had to peddle up the hill, which was quite difficult to do on a tricycle where you had to be really careful about your knees hitting the handle bars. So far neither Sam nor I had been able to successfully get up the hill without getting off the trike and walking up the hill. After this had been going on for a while, we had another person give it a go. This person was Grandpa. After finally managing to get himself on the tricycle he had his debut. I remember watching him come up the hill and on to our driveway. He wasn’t even breathing that hard! This is one of my memories of Grandpa.

One of my favorite things about Grandpa is how he wakes up super early in the morning and makes me hotcakes (Also known as pancakes). Breakfast is my favorite meal of the day by far and hotcakes is my favorite breakfast. Whenever I come to visit, grandpa will wake up super early in the morning and make me hotcakes or whatever other meal I feel like eating that day. Hotcakes has always been a special part of my relationship with grandpa.

Sam:

Something that I remember from when I was little about my Grandpa is that he will always take you to the park if you want to go. The park is humungous but with him it’s more merriment. If you want to play a game with him, he’ll play the game with you. If you want to be pushed in the swing he’ll push you in the swing. If you want to be pushed around in the tire swing then he’ll push you round in the tire swing.That is what I remember about my Grandpa when I was little. 

Henry:


being pushed on a tire swing.

playing at the whole park.

playing with the magnets at Grandpa’s house.

Walking to the museum.

working in the yard with him

Crossword Clues

This is Jay’s memory contribution:

“My dad’s name is Carl. And he’s an attorney”.

These words rang in my head as I drove with Lucy from Utah to Montana for the “first meeting” of whom I hoped would be my future father-in-law. I had been mulling over and over in my mind what this man might be like.  I imagined an intimidating, overbearing, condescending man, who would interrogate me like an opposing witness.

Fortunately for me, what I found was a humble, cheerful, helpful and righteous man, who welcomed me into his home and family as soon as I walked through the door.

While there for our visit, I sat down to breakfast that first morning with the Helena Independent Record.  Carl was already long gone for the day, having been up for hours before that, I’m sure.  As I lazily munched through some cereal, I solved the crossword puzzle, something I love to do.

One by one, each of Carl’s daughters found their way upstairs and asked me what I was doing.

“Solving the crossword” I answered smugly, with a bit of an air of “aren’t I smart”.

Sarah had a look of dread on her face when I said this, but I didn’t know why.  Lucy said, “oh no”.  Emily came and asked what had happened. “Jay did the crossword puzzle,” was Sarah’s answer.  Emily’s look seemed to be one of condescension and “how could you”. Maureen looked at the floor.  But Jennifer had the worst reaction.  What I imagined as a look of terror, annoyance, anger and shock crossed her face, as she said, “Wait ‘til dad gets home. He always does the crossword at lunch.”

“Really?”

“Always” Lucy and Sarah answered in unison while avoiding eye contact.

I tried to laugh it off, but I could tell by the somber tone in the room that I had committed a grave error. Karen tried to console me, patting me on the back and saying something like, “It’ll be okay. There are other crossword puzzles”.

This just made it worse.  I had crossed an invisible line, and now had to face a punishment that was merciless and inescapable. Like a gunfighter awaiting the dreaded showdown at high noon, I awaited the hour with apprehension and trepidation. Tick-tock-tick-tock the clock toned like a march to my grave.

For the next several hours I tried to forget my unintentional error – to no avail.  Jon and Tara came up and asked what was going on. “Jay did the crossword” came the piercing reply.  Each comment was as a dagger knifing me in my heart.  Day one of my attempt to make a good impression was going to end in an inferno of anger and excuses.

I tried to find a reason not to be home at that awful hour. Too late, I thought about going out to buy a new paper to replace the one that I had so carelessly desecrated.  I wanted to hide as I heard the car pull up the driveway.

“Maybe he won’t notice. Maybe I can distract him with conversation for an hour. Maybe he’ll be too busy today. “

Carl came in the house. He greeted his family.  He sat down for lunch. He grabbed the paper. He turned to the crossword puzzle.  I wanted to crawl inside the couch.

“Jay did the crossword puzzle,” Sarah blurted out before I could act. A deadly silence filled the room.

“I…I…I…I didn’t know you did it,” was my meager defense.

And then Carl did what he has since done a thousand times to me.  He smiled. No words were spoken, no accusations were hurled at my wounded ego, no censure was placed on my back.

He went back to his lunch, disappointed I’m sure, but without another word.  He never mentioned it again. 

However simple this example may seem, it was my first memory of the kindness, generosity, forgiveness and love that to me define my father-in-law.

Yes, he may be an attorney, but he didn’t prosecute or persecute me that day – or any moment since.  He truly demonstrates a love and charity toward his family, and acceptance to those of us who have joined his family, that is an example to me.

By the way, I never did his crossword again.

Driving Mr. Carl

Cars are not Dad's things.  If it has four wheels and runs, he's good to go.  I have lots of memories of road trips and various automobiles belonging to Dad.   Here are some of my favorites:

• Driving up the long, winding dirt road to see the giant golf ball at Island Park

• Taking the dirt road "shortcut" at Boulder to get to Sheridan.

• Overheating the diesel on McDonald Pass to Drummond.

• Getting out of the overheated diesel on McDonald pass only to watch Dad drive off without warning and watching plumes of black smoke come out of the exhaust while listening to mom cry, "Stop, Carl!  You're going to blow up!"

• Dad stopping once he realized he was probably going to blow up.  Then, having all of us that were traveling in two cars squeezing into one.  Then bottoming out and ripping a hole in the oil pan on the railroad tracks on the way to the church.  Then leaving an oil trail all the way to the church.  Then waiting at the church for a welder to come and fix the oil pan so we could drive home and pick up the station wagon that was hopefully cooled down.  

• Watching dad use two feet while driving - his right on the gas pedal and his left on the brake.

• Wondering when he was going to break when going around the curves on McDonald Pass.

• Wondering when he was going to use the windshield wipers if it was raining (he likes to get the windshield good and wet before he lets those wipers go to work).  

• When the Brown Beast died, Dad downsizing to a big blue car that WASN'T a station wagon.

• The loaner cars from Ron Benson when whatever car had most recently died.  My favorite was the white car with the red interior and gold hubcaps!  When we got whatever car had been repaired, Dad would always say, "It's like a new car!"  I get it now, Dad!

• Dad being nonplused driving the Oldsmobile Delta 88 after I had ruined the front seat in an accident.  It reclined deeply so he just used his stomach muscles sit upright.

• Dad striking up a conversation with a woman at a gas station on our great road trip back east and discovering they had a common acquaintance.  

• Stopping in Wisdom, MT for some unknown reason (lunch?) and Dad taking off in a sprint down the dirt road as soon as we were about to leave.  

These are just a few but they make me smile.  

Guiding Light

I didn't see it everyday but on those days when I stayed home sick from school or on summer days if I happened to still be around and not off playing with my friends, from 1:00 to 2:00 pm, everyday, I remember Dad heating up some leftovers in the microwave or maybe just cutting himself off a big piece of cheese and going to sit in the armchair next to the door in Grandma's room.  Together, they'd watch an hour of Guiding Light and then, without lingering, he'd be back off to his office and his afternoon's work.  

An adult's perspective changes a memory.  I honestly thought as a young child that Dad came home to eat lunch just so that he could watch Guiding Light.  It didn't occur to me then that  a man who has six children and a mother-in-law all living under the same 2,200 square foot of living space roof might justifiably choose to go elsewhere for lunch.  It didn't even occur to me that he probably didn't particularly enjoy watching a soap opera.  He easily could have packed a sack lunch and eaten at the office.  Or, like most men, he could have gone out to a restaurant with a business colleague or friend to relax.  But he didn't.  He came home for lunch.  And having that memory has taught me many things.  

First and foremost is that Dad loves his family.  He loved and respected Grandma Parker and I will be forever grateful to have been raised by someone who didn't talk about having compassion or being generous but WAS compassionate and very generous.  Also, this memory highlights Dad's abhorrence for restaurants and spending money on eating out but that's another memory.

Because I was young when the decision was made, I'm not privy to all the details that went into where Grandma Parker would live when she needed assistance but I'm so astonished and relieved that Dad was the kind of husband and son-in-law to give his children the opportunity to learn about love and service by having her live with us.  It must have been stressful - emotionally, financially, physically - for both Mom and Dad.  He could have handled the stress by choosing a hobby so that he had some alone time.  Instead, there Dad was, everyday, breaking bread with Grandma at lunch and following the drama between Reva and Josh.  

When Grandma died, I remember calling from the office phone at C.R. Anderson for a ride home because I had just returned from a few days at Las Vegas for a student council trip.  I asked how Grandma was doing, because she had stopped eating and been sick for several previous weeks, and Dad matter-of-factly said, "Well, she just died about 15 minutes ago."  

I cried.  I sat down on the linoleum floor of the office and cried in front of my friends and other curious students walking the halls.  It seemed cold to me that he wasn't weeping when he shared that news on the phone.  Worse, it seemed even colder to watch him smiling and laughing with family members and friends at her funeral.  

There is a picture somewhere that has Dad and Don Smith arm in arm next to Grandma's headstone, both smiling as if they had just spent the day at a ballgame instead of at my beloved Grandmother's funeral service.  To the side, I stand, watching and glaring at them.  I was too young then to appreciate Dad's complete faith and understanding in the Plan of Salvation.  Now, as a grown woman with a testimony of my own, I still marvel at his unwavering hope.  He was smiling because he knew death was not the end.  I know it too, thanks in large part to him.

Guiding Light might be the name of a silly daytime soap opera but but I'm forever thankful to Dad for watching it with Grandma. Because I have the memory of that simple act of service, I have a real guiding light to follow.

Memories Of My Father

My sweet papa turned 75 last Friday.   Since I can remember, he has hated money being spent on gifts for him and more than once, my dear mother’s feelings have been hurt as she has bought him something he actually needs, like shoes or pants, only to be scolded for her extravagance.  She has learned through the years not to take it personally, hang the new clothes in his closet and wait for a few months.  When enough time has passed or the hole in the bottom of his shoe has gotten large enough to bother him, out come the new things!

Needless to say, it is tricky to find a good gift idea for him.  In my younger years, when tape recorders were all the rage, I would simply place that boom box or recorder on top of the piano, push the button with the red circle on it and play my latest recital piece.  Believe me, as poor as the sound quality was on those old tapes, he liked them more than any new tie or wallet.

Emily came across a wonderful idea on Pinterest that involved friends, family, acquaintances, neighbors...really anyone that has crossed paths with a particular person writing and sending their memories of the person being celebrated.  She sent out a form letter to relatives, old law school peers, members of his current and old wards, neighbors, students, and more and with our own family memories included, he opened more than 75 envelopes on the day after his birthday (none of the kids visiting could get there in time on Friday make much ado on his actual birthday.  Like I said, he’s not the type to care).

I throughly enjoyed thinking and writing some of my memories of my dad.  We were only asked to write one, but once I started, I think I could have written 75 of my own had I had the time.  Instead, I managed four and the boys and Jay each added their own.  Because I want my own record, I’m going to post our memories.  I can’t wait to get home and read all the others.

Happy Birthday, Dad.  You are a hero to me.