Fathers Day memories 2009

Work, by Sara
June 21, 2009

No other way to say it: Dad taught me how to work. He taught me to get in and get the job done without wasting time or stalling. He taught me to keep working until the job was done, and to rise early to get a good start so you could get done early in the day. He taught me to do it right the first time and not to do it half way. He taught me to enjoy the weary feeling after hard work (particularly physical work).

Not all associations with work are positive. Cleaning the basement toy room in Missouri, for example -- torture! Of course now I have a better perspective on the exercise, but at the time it seemed to take all day long and be just a huge, horrible job.

As a parent now, I also understand a lot more of his patterns regarding work around the house. I find myself repeating the same "it would only take a few seconds more to put this away in the right place/in the trash" that Dad used to always say. I feel Dad's irritation about cooking in a kitchen that is already dirty. I find it so hard to focus on doing something new while there is a mess to clean up.

Of course, I remember Dad working in the yard and garden -- in our garden (for some reason it was a few blocks away) in Missouri roto-tilling and weeding with a family friend, Hank. Who was that guy? I also remember many days building on the deck in the back yard. In Emporia he taught us as he (and we) roofed and then painted the house (that scaffolding!). I have a memories of Dad planting fruit trees or evergreen-type trees to screen the back yard from the freeway and riding the tractor in his work clothes. We'd see Dad coming in from the garden straight from work, still in his suit pants, with the fruit of his labors -- tomatoes or corn. I have discovered that I, too, get a lot of satisfaction from working in the yard, spending a cool morning working up a sweat and cleaning out a great big pile of trimmings and weeds.

I remember Dad ironing shirts while watching Star Trek or a similar show.

I remember visiting Dad at his office in Missouri when we were young, and in Emporia when I was older. In Missouri, we would roll down the big hill in front of the administration building. We'd raid his food stash and eat orange slices (the candy) and saltines and cheese (bitten off the hunk). Once I played office while Dad was at work -- I don't know where Betteye was. But I was typing and playing in her office, making forms for myself to fill out. I also remember the funny t-shirts that Dad used to make for his people. "Big Max" and "Amazing Grace" and others at his work. I remember that Dad frequently came home from work (in Emporia at least) for lunch and being home for dinner after work, shortly after 5. Then the work at home started! I remember the sight of Dad at the kitchen sink washing dishes madly (not angrily; just fast and furious) every night. He does not waste time getting that job done -- just gets in and gets it done. I don't know how he didn't get his shirt wet in the middle, as I do every time I wash dishes.
I also remember Dad working with us and for us. Dad got up early in the morning to drive me to seminary in Springfield, and would wait outside, as I recall, until class was over. Later in high school Dad stayed up late to help me work on a paper for school. He helped me organize the ideas and craft the language. He put in the work to teach me how to be a good writer. When he came to visit me in Mesa after Jack was born, he spent one day painting my bathroom. Classic Dad.

Then there was also church work and church travel. Dad was gone a lot, and sometimes he would take us with him on an assignment. I think about Dad going to Sikeston to build Fitzpatrick's house after the fire or to do home teaching or to have meetings. There were far-away speaking assignments in the new district and then the new stake. I also note Dad's example of working in the Kingdom no matter what the call, as he has served devotedly at both high and low levels in the Church.

In my scriptures I have printed (oops, looks like that page has been torn out by of the kids!) "the love of work is success," a quote from David O. McKay, I think. Dad said once that maybe all the kingdoms of glory were the same -- lots of work and service, and either we had learned to love it in this life, and it was the Celestial Kingdom, or we had not learned to love it, and it would be something less. Well, if that is the case, Dad is going to the Celestial Kingdom for sure. Thanks for teaching me how to appreciate and love work as well.

Happy Fathers Day!

Love,
Sara
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June 19, 2009
Memories about Dad and work
for Fathers Day

It’s no secret that Dad has handed down a legacy of work. I didn’t always want to accept that legacy. Sometimes, I preferred to go find a good book somewhere quiet until the dishes were all done. But there’s no denying that Dad has tried (and for some of us, still tries) to instill in us all a love of work.

Dad taught primarily by example. My earliest memories of Dad are of him tilling our garden in North Dakota, while I picked peas out of the pod and ate them. Everywhere we went, there was always a garden. And where there was a garden, there was work to be done. I’m not going to pretend I loved all that weeding, but without it we wouldn’t have had all the delicious corn, tomatoes, cucumbers, and berries. So, thank you, Dad.

Dad almost always had us work alongside him. I don’t know if it helped him any– my guess is that sometimes we created more work than we finished off– but I know that it helped us. I remember being involved in the building of the deck, and feeling very much part of the process. I was really proud of that deck. (In fact, I wonder now what happened to it. Maybe someone in Cape Girardeau could wander over and take a picture for us.) Doing big jobs like this gave me confidence to do things like my Eagle Scout project.

Dad likes to say: “It’s not enough to do your best, you have to do it right.” As a boy, the expectations implicit in this saying sounded somewhere between unfair and impossible. But I think now that the true purpose of this saying was to help me realize that what I wanted to call my best, wasn’t. It was just the best I could do without putting out a lot of effort. And doing the job right usually doesn’t require doing better than my best, it just requires more labor than I’d like. But a job done right has many times proved a sweeter payoff than free time and a job done poorly.

Thank you for helping me to be a better man, Dad. I love you!

Happy Father’s Day,
John
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Work

One of the lessons I remember most clearly from my childhood was about work. I was sitting on the floor half-heartedly scrubbing the tile, when Dad told me that you could always tell a working man from a lazy man by his pants. A working man's pants have holes in the knees, and a lazy man's pants have holes in the behind. Even though these days my job involves a lot of sitting on my behind, I still think about this lesson often. People don't need to see the end product of your work to know if you are a good worker- it is generally very easy to see from you yourself.

I'm glad that Dad taught us to work. I remember that one of my chores in Emporia was to gather rocks from the yard to put under the tree house. It took me several years to realize that Dad could have bought gravel for that spot, but he wanted to teach us how to work. I would often grab a big rock to put on top of the bucket, hoping that he wouldn't notice that I hadn't really filled it, but he always did. And he always explained to me why that wasn't good enough. Dad taught me that looking like you are doing the job and actually doing it are two very different things.

Dad also taught me that working hard and getting the job done are not always the same thing. Mowing the yard of the Overbrook house was (let's be honest) a miserable chore. I would work up a sweat and get exhausted pushing the mower up that hill, and then Dad would come out and show me where I had missed spots. I would get so frustrated because I had worked so hard I thought he should just accept what I had done, but he wouldn't settle for less than my best work. He taught me that it is always less work to do the job right the first time, rather than have to come back and redo it.

On my mission I came to love a hymn that doesn't exist in the English hymnal: "Placentero nos es trabajar" or "It is a pleasure to work." This hymn talks about the joy that can come from working in the Lord's vinyard. I think that Dad embodies the idea of drawing joy from work better than anyone I know. Work really seems to bring him pleasure. To relax after a long day of work, he goes to work in the yard. He is eager to retire from his job, not to play golf and see the world, but to work in the church. I admire Dad's ability to enjoy working.

Somewhat related to work is the place where Dad works. I've always liked Dad's office. The three I remember (Emporia, Huntsville, and temporary Huntsville) were always really neat- there were cool things to look at and play with. I think it is a testament to Dad's character that his office and home are always filled with these neat things that people from all over the world have given him to say thank you and to show their affection.

I also admire Dad's ability to keep work from interfering with his family. He is a very busy man with a lot of work to do, but he was never one of the dads who left his family uncared for. Even after long days at work, Dad always made time to be with us, help us with homework, talk to us, etc. I think there are not many men in the world who work as hard as Dad who take the time to be with their families as much as he does.

I love you, Dad. Happy Father's Day,

David
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Work

My first memories of work are actually stories that dad would tell as motivational examples of his own life. There are two great one-liners that have stuck with me from all of these stories. The first one, “It’s not enough to do your best, you have to do it right,” was already shared by John. The second quip, “work till you’re done, not just till you’re tired” comes from at least two stories that I remember. The first is of dad as a little boy working with his father, perhaps roofing. When he got tired, he went inside for the night, but grandpa stayed out much longer, working until it was finished. The second story is Dad’s famous mission story about tracting until 5pm and not 4:45.

In my own life, my memories of work start with the deck we built on our house in Missouri. I remember enjoying helping out as we nailed down the boards. As I was the most consistent helper, I remember being rewarded with a trip to the movies with Dad. We went to go see Return to Oz. This bit of construction labor was common to my youth, and something I deeply cherish. I remember Dad helping out on the construction of a family’s home in Sikeston – although I don’t think I helped any. I remember re-roofing a garage for one of our home teaching families in Emporia, in addition to roofing and painting our own home in Emporia. Gardening was certainly a big part of our summers. I find it so relaxing and enjoyable, I hardly consider it work any more. My many hours of weeding the dandelions in Emporia were just time for me to decompress and enjoy the fresh air. In fact when I first met the Madsens in Virginia, I volunteered to do a bit of construction/yard help with their home as a way to ‘feel more at home’ through the summer.

Perhaps the most important thing that I got from Dad was the attitude of loving work. It seemed to me that Dad always enjoyed doing what needed to be done. He did not begrudge a load of dishes, a yard full of weeds, or speaking in church. Having a productive and successful life requires a lot of effort, and accepting that reality is an important part of becoming an adult. I remember the total shock of learning that Dad did not enjoy camping (only revealed after David had earned his eagle scout). He had fooled five boys for well over 10 years. Dad knew that in order to get things accomplished you cannot sour the experience.

Life has come full circle as I teach my own children how to work. I have benefited greatly from good examples of my parents, knowing that work is rewarding. I remember when Harrison was still very young in San Diego, I wanted to find appropriate jobs for him. I wanted work to be a part of his life from the very beginning. As he could not yet walk, it implied my constant help. But we loved to take out the trash together.

Thanks Dad for a legacy that will last longer than you know,
Samuel
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David’s Work Rules

Work even when receiving therapy for CA
One “work free” day (Sunday)
Right after the meal is done
Keep it contagious

Love,
Regent

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Memories of Work
Father’s Day, 2009

1. Business trips: I never got to go on a business trip but I remember the souvenirs. Dad would always come back with loads of goodies and stories to entertain us. I have been on many trips but never manage to find anything but junk. It shows me just how much more time and money dad put into it that I never realized.

2. Letters of work: Much of what I know about Dad’s profession comes from his letters and one reoccurring theme is helping trouble causers. (Not helping them cause trouble, but helping them move on and repair their professional lives.) It impresses me that dad is not vindictive, but always looking to help even the difficult people.

3. Banquets: Many of my happy childhood memories of Dad’s job involve dressing up and going to parties, hopefully the kind where a line of caterers offered a selection of fancy cheeses . Nothing makes a 12 year old feel like a sophisticated member of high society like an assortment of cheeses and a glass of punch. Along with banquets I should probably include all the social functions we participated in as a family.

Love,
James

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On WORK

To check my stamina, a few weeks before we got engaged, David took me to perform an ordeal, just to make sure I could stand up to a challenge. We went hiking in Provo Canyon in waist high snow. I jumped around in the deep snow cheerfully for an hour or two. I must have passed the test because here we are, 36 years later. However, I must confess that I am not jumping so high these days.

Six weeks after getting married, when I realized that without a doubt, Work was David’s middle name. We bought a little 2 bedroom house, 813 3rd Avenue, Iowa City, Iowa. We decided to paint the living room. After painting for what seemed like days (probably at least several hours), I begged him to stop and finish it in the morning. He told me that I could stop whenever I wanted, but he had to finish before he could quit. ARGH. Of course that left me no choice.

We, and by we I mostly mean David, painted every house we ever lived in until we moved to Texas. David, James, and I painted the main floor of our Elkins Lake house. Fortunately, the new house was done by professional painters. Sara’s bathroom may be the last painting he’ll do.

David has worked tirelessly in our yards, planting gardens and orchards in six states for the eight houses we’ve lived in. In the early days of our marriage, I thought we gardened because we were poor. We were, in fact, poor. One of the things I looked forward to when we moved to New Orleans was buying produce like normal people instead of producing it. Not many trips to the grocery store taught me that we garden because the food is so delicious.

Our biggest garden was in North Dakota. It was 40 feet by 100 feet. We planted everything under the sun. In addition to the vegetable garden, we had an orchard of any fruit bearing tree that would produce in that climate. The very best fruit was our long row of raspberries. We were really into canning and freezing our produce. We canned beans, tomatoes, applesauce and crab apples the size of golf balls in a cinnamon syrup.

David drove from North Dakota to North Carolina one summer for a special seminar. On his way home, he came across bushels of peaches. He packed his little beige Corolla full to the ceiling with peaches which we canned when he got home. The car smelled like peaches for weeks! Somehow we got our hands on pears to can, too. We also bottled raspberry juice and rhubarb. That was perhaps the inspiration for our North Dakota favorite drink - rhubarb raspberry peach pear punch. best with a little 7-up for fizz. We froze delicious corn off the cob and peas. With all that food in the basement, we rarely bought fruit or vegetables at the store.

In Missouri, we were in good peach country. One summer, the day before leaving on vacation, David drove home with another Corolla-ful of peaches that were dying to be canned yesterday! So, into the night we blanched, peeled, and bottled peaches. They were wonderful that winter. During those years, in addition to lots of small children, I was often, meaning frequently, pregnant or nursing. David would send me to bed sometime around midnight and he would stay up into the wee hours finishing up batch after batch of whatever we were canning. What a guy!

Even more energizing for David than yard or garden work is church work. In Iowa, he was a Seventy, with assignments to nurture inactive and part-member families. He seemed tireless in his efforts with his stewardship. It was here that we started baking a cake on Sunday afternoon and surprising those poor, unsuspecting families by arriving on their doorsteps with cake and ice cream. They always let us in. After Sara came along, she got to come along. For the first 2 years of her life she wore clothes given to us by one of those families who came to enjoy our visits. Four years and three more children later, we realized that we were not as welcome as we had been with one little baby. So, the Sunday afternoon cake and ice cream visits came to an end.

No discussion of church work could be complete without mentioning our 2 years in Sikeston. Dad would go down once or twice during the week to tend to families there. He visited every family on the books, either reactivating inactive people and baptizing their family members or excommunicating those who were not interested in returning to church. The ward membership stayed at 112, but Sunday meeting attendance went from 20 to more than 110 in 2 years.

After a year or so, he returned to visit some of those who remained inactive to ask them to please come for 3 months so we could get the numbers needed to build our own building. Some of them came just long enough to help boost the numbers.

I was a single mom for lots of years. Shortly after we arrived in North Dakota, Dad was called into a branch presidency which soon became a bishopric. Next, he was the bishop. One Christmas Eve he got a call at 5 pm to help a lady whose heating oil ran dry. There was never any hesitation when those calls came. Dad was always ready to run and help. I never saw anyone wake up and dash off like Dad did when a call came in the middle of the night from someone needing a blessing.

One of Dad’s real motivators for work was worrying about feeding his family. Later, the concern was college costs. By the time David II was born, Dad started making spreadsheets of college and mission costs by year: 1992-Sara, 1993- Sara and John, 1994-Sara and John, 1995-Sara, John, and Sam, etc. I saw the spreadsheet many times, as if something about it was new. The spreadsheet was new, but the information was the same. No way around the fact that there would be a total of 42 years of support if the boys served missions and the average college undergraduate time was 5 years. Well, Sara went on a mission, too, and there were mostly 5 undergraduate years…Dad just kept working hard to stay on top of it all.

Probably the truest test of Dad’s ability to work hard, no matter what the odds, has come in the last six months. Going to work every day except for a few while undergoing serious chemotherapy has been a remarkable show of strength, perseverance, and stamina. There are few who could do what he’s done.

In 1994, with his first round of cancer, we hoped that he would somehow live long enough to get Daniel into college. David was 9 years old. James was in 7th grade. We are so grateful for the blessing of these past 15 years. We look forward to another 15 or 25 or more. The thing I want to remind him of is that there is much church work left to finish. We have a couple of mission to go on, so don’t quit now. The job isn’t done. I can’t imagine that you could rest peacefully on a cloud somewhere knowing that you left some of your work unfinished. You have a reputation to protect. See you at the MTC in a couple of years.

So, carry on. I’m right behind you, running as fast as I can to keep up.

Love,
Grettle/Mom

Mom's Christmas Poem - 2008

Our Christmas was packed up, boxed and bagged.
As the days flew by, both Mom and Dad sagged.

James and Regent went out to cut a great tree
Which was finally set up, 3 boys on their knees.

We went out, met friends, and watched a great show.
Our hearts felt cheered as home we did go.

We talked of the movie as home we did ride.
As we opened the doors, a surprise was inside.

For while we were gone a true gift of selves
was given by our neighbors who worked fast like elves.

They made tree lights twinkle and hung decorations.
The house was covered with their loving preparations.

It made me remember the best gifts aren't things.
They're the kindness we share, not the stuff that we bring.

Dad's Christmas Poem - 2008

I feel blessed
With all of the rest
Of you
For God's riches bestowed
To lighten our load
Anew.
In times of distress
And all of the rest
He is true.
With comfort and love
From Heaven above
And you.