The topic is: favorite stories about Dad's life (either that we heard from Dad or from another source).
Sara :
Just a few of the stories I remember from Dad's life:First, I remember the little rascal sitting on the top of the mud wall in Iran shooting the little local kids with a BB gun. This boy who didn't read and got in trouble in elementary school in the past became the confident and skilled reader and writer we know in the present.In between there was the boy scout extraordinaire, who got his eagle scout at 13 and saved a life at BY High when a boy fell out of a window and severed an artery. Dad knew first aid and was able to use the pressure point to stop the bleeding. The same boy scout was a wrestling champ and debater, which is how I got the idea to debate (but not wrestle). He delivered papers and loved to ride up the canyon on a scooter.Dad was an actor -- my kids are surprised to hear that he was in a church movie, and then spoke in General Conference about it.Dad's musical career as a trumpet player comes up in several stories -- making it to the big concert (in which he had the opening solo!) just in time, joining the coast guard band. The band duties and church membership kept him from the worst parts of boot camp., but he had an officer who didn't like Mormons and so assigned him the dirty job of cleaning out the bilge next to the engines. Dad irritated him by singing hymns while he worked. Music, again. And I'd like to just mention good old Harry James, the trumpet player who never brushed his teeth.I laugh a little when I remember hearing about Dad tracting faithfully in Iceland, going with the Icelandic companion without fully understanding the threats his companion was making!Dad was called to be the bishop in North Dakota and immediately had to raise a bunch of money because they were behind in the budget. As I remember it, he called an inactive member (a doctor?) and asked him to contribute -- and he did contribute a pretty large amount. Also I remember stories of being asked to contribute large percentages himself to ward budgets and building assessments, and that he made the sacrifices to do so.Then there's Dad calling counselors to the stake presidency in Cape Girardeau - Elder Haight was the visiting authority, and when Dad couldn't remember the name of one of the men he'd thought should serve as a counselor, Elder Haight pointed out that that's what we call a stupor of thought (I may have embellished the story in my mind; I hope not).Thank you for writing down the official version of these stories in your personal history for us to keep. That is a treasure. Happy Fathers Day!
John :
Happy Father's Day, Dad!
This year we are writing about our favorite stories about Dad. So here are a couple that I find myself telling over and over, plus why I think I like them so well.
1. Grandma Payne taught Dad to read in Iran by stopping in the middle of Hardy Boys books just when things got exciting. Dad would try to continue on his own while she was in another room doing housework or what have you. She would swoop back in when he got too frustrated, and then continue on until she found another cliffhanger.
The cool thing about this story is that it shows that anyone can be motivated. You just have to find the lever that moves them. Still not sure I've found the exact right lever for myself, but I'm working on it.
2. When Dad and Dennis were young, they played mumblety peg with pocketknives. Once, Dad threw his knife through Dennis's foot. I always got the feeling that it wasn't entirely accidental.
This story (and others like it) helped me, as an older brother, to figure out that I needed to treat my younger brothers better. Otherwise, you know, knife in the foot.
3. As a young Coastie, Dad once impersonated a medical corpsman, more or less by accident, I think. He gave himself away only when he asked for thread (instead of suture) to sew up a cut.
Beyond the electric thrill of imagining Dad pulling a con, I like this story because it shows that most people will take you for what you present yourself to be. That's kind of freeing. For me it means that I don't always have to be the me that broke all the dishes in the hutch or took eleven years to finish my degree. If I act like a normal, responsible, grown-up human being, then people will treat me that way. Maybe even long enough for me to actually become normal and responsible.
4. After going on several dates with Mom on various trips to Utah, Dad called her up to talk about getting together over Spring Break. She said, we're too old to fool around like this. Don't plan to see me unless we're getting married. He called her back later on one knee and proposed.
Not only does this showcase Mom's chutzpah to delightful effect, but it shows that sometimes we have to take a leap of faith. I'm glad they both did.
5. In Cape Girardeau, the school didn't want to provide services that would allow Dan to stay in the classroom with the other kids. Their preferred solution was to basically institutionalize him at a special needs school. Dad wasn't having that, and with the threat of a lawsuit got them to live up to their obligations under the law.
Some things are worth fighting for...
6. At a university social function, the president at Sangamon State offered Dad a drink. When Dad asked for a soda instead, the president told him a joke that ended with the punchline that only a jackass would turn down a free drink. Dad smiled and once again declined in favor of a soda. Then he went looking for another job. Less than a year later, we moved to Kansas.
...And some things you just need to walk away from. Getting out of that toxic situation was heroic. Almost as heroic as me saving pretty much the whole town from the worst fire since the inferno that nearly devoured Chicago in 1871. You're welcome, Springfield
Anyway, there are lots more, but I'll let someone else tell those. We love you, Dad. Thanks for letting us be part of your story.
Love,
JOHN
Sam :
My memories of Dad's life.
I remember dad teaching us about the human body, using the encyclopedia-like book of anatomy and teaching us the names of all the bones.
One of my favorite memories is of dad coming home to our house in Cape with a car full of soda cans. There was a flood and he had come across a semi-truck that was partially flooded. Because of the water damage, the entire load of soda had to be thrown away. However, it was all glass cans. So i reality nothing was harmed at all, but they could not sell it. So dad brought it home for us. I had never had much soda before, but fondly remember being able to go to the basement to get grape or orange soda.
I attended elementary school at the University Elementary School attached to SEMO. Because that was located on campus, it was not very far from Dad's office. One year, I would meet dad regularly after school and build a model boat. It was a plastic kit of a battleship, I think. We had to poke out the pieces and then glue it all together. It was fun for me to visit his office, see the secretaries and go into his room and build. Sometimes he would not be able to take the time off, but would let me just build on my own at the table while he worked at the desk. As a father now, this is a tender memory for me. He was a dean, and very busy. I can't imagine having time to do this with my kids. Also a related memory is the saltine crackers and cheese he kept at his office.
Since no one else has mentioned it, I will. Dad was regularly dieting with slim-fast shakes. Man that stuff was awful.
Sam
David :
Stories about my Dad:
When James and I were young, Dad used to take us to Bluestem Farm and Ranch Supply on Saturday mornings. They had, as I recall, donuts and hot popcorn for their Saturday shoppers. We would get our treats and walk around for a good chunk of the morning looking at tools. Dad would explain them to us - how they were used, what they were called, etc. My favorite was always a pruning saw on the end of a long pole. I thought it looked like a Grim Reaper scythe, which seemed pretty cool at the time.
Dad had (and probably still has) a collection of knives in a box in his dresser. The box is nothing fancy, but when I was a boy, it was the most exciting thing in the world. On Sundays I would like to sit on his bed and look at them. Dad would sometimes be watch me playing with them and tell me where each came from.
When we were small enough to jump around the living room, we would play Tickle Wrestle. Dad would lay on the floor in the middle of the room and we would jump from couch to couch, trying to get as close to Dad as possible without him reaching us. If he caught us, he would pull us in and tickle us.
When Dad first had cancer, the therapy knocked his immune system out of whack. He lived in the basement, which had its own kitchen, bathroom, and air supply. I remember one day when he wanted to be with us. My memory says it was Christmas, but that seems a little on the nose. We sat on opposite sides of the living room, with him wearing a surgical mask. I have no idea what we talked about, but his desire to be with his family has stuck with me ever since.
I remember spending hours with Dad sitting at the kitchen table revising essays. I would write them as well as I possibly could, then he would sit down with me and correct them. I thought that making those changes would make the essay perfect, and was always surprised that there was more to change in the next draft. When we had been through a few drafts, he would send me to Mom to polish it up further. He taught me that you can't see all the problems at once. You have to fix what you can, then reevaluate to find more.
Stories I didn't witness but still like:
After Dad married Mom, their "honeymoon" consisted of driving across the country to get Dad back to work. The story varies, but while Dad was driving, he either was reading a newspaper, reading students' papers, or grading papers. I choose to believe that all are true.
One that I often think about is when Dad was a teenager, working on the roof with his Dad. Dad got tired and went inside, leaving his Dad to finish the work alone. Dad was surprised to see that Grandpa stayed out and finished. When Grandpa came in, he told Dad "You don't stop when you're tired. You stop when all the work is done." (Dad, I know I'm mangling the quote. Is it in your book?)
When Dad was in the Coast Guard, there was a mixup and he somehow ended up as a medic. Giving shots wasn't hard, so he handled the job without problems. Someone came in needing stitches, so Dad asked where he could get "needle and thread." The fact that he didn't ask for "sutures" gave him away.
Speaking of Coast Guard stories, I learned about the purpose of bureaucracy from Dad's time working in the office. The correct details can be found in his journals, but this is the story as I remember it. Dad had a friend working an office job, but really spending most of his time working on school. Dad thought this was a pretty cushy setup, so he asked his friend to request some help. The friend obliged, and he and Dad split the moderate workload. They were now both getting paid for a job that one person could easily do and spending most of their time doing schoolwork. They thought this scam could go one step further, and they asked for a third person to be put on the job. Now, the work was being split three ways. Importantly, Dad had job security; he knew that if anybody got fired, it would be the new guy. Thus, the lesson that every bureaucracy exists for one purpose only: to expand.
Happy Fathers' Day, Dad. I'm proud to carry the name of a man who has done such good things in his life.
