Random Thoughts

Yesterday I buried my father. It was one of the most difficult days of my life. For those who don’t know, he died quite suddenly on October 31. He was in the hospital undergoing what we thought was going to be a fairly routine procedure designed to correct some of the problems he was having with his heart. Complications ensued, and he died on the table. He had told my sister earlier in the week that he planned on being home Saturday afternoon. I talked with him 2 weeks prior, and he told me the same thing. I was going to call him that weekend. Sadly, I never got the chance.

Yesterday, I was given an opportunity to say a few words at the funeral service. The following is what I said. Well, it’s actually the improved version of what I would have said had I been able to speak clearly. I was completely unprepared for the flood of emotions that hit me when I got up to speak. So this is the what was in my head–even if it didn’t all come out.

My father and I didn’t always have the best relationship. However, I’m so thankful for the last 12 years that we had together, especially the ‘cabin’ years. The cabin became our rallying point; and looking back on it now, our time of working on the camp brought out so many of Dad’s characteristics. Dad was a very genuine guy. What you saw was what you got. There was no pretense about him. He was the same person everywhere he went.

One thing about Dad was that he was an “all-in” kind of guy. When he took on a project, it was all or nothing. That was made manifest in our cabin. Over the course of a few years, we turned a pretty ramshackle place into what was affectionately known as the “Taj Mahal.”

He also taught me that if something is worth doing, it’s worth doing right. Once again, the cabin is the perfect illustration. When we were trying to decide how to finish off the interior of the place, everyone told us to just leave it as studs and sheathing. We took another route. We insulated, vapor barriered, and drywalled. We had an 80 gallon hot water heater for crying out loud. When it was done, it was done right. 

I marveled at his ability to talk with anyone like he’d known them for years. Someone said that my Dad never met a stranger. When we would run into towns for supplies, which happened quite often–sometimes multiple times a day, he would always strike up a conversation with the clerk at the store, someone in town, or the waitress at the restaurant. He made everyone feel important and was genuinely interested in them. I’ve always envied that about him.

He also had the ability to make just about everything fun. He was known for his smile, and his laugh. He made up words that crack me up to this day. I laughed every time he would ask for a hammer by saying, “Son, hand me a schalaylee, would ya?” We worked really hard on that camp, but we had a lot of fun, too.

Which is not to say that everything always went smoothly. Last night, I was thinking of one particularly memorable story.And since Dad was also known for his stories, I’ll share this with you. Dad, my brother and I were up there one fall getting ready to close up. One of our tasks that trip was to install the range hood vent–because all camps need a range hood vent, right? I told you he was a “do it right” kind of guy. Anyway, we spent most of dinner gripping about the electrician and how the guy didn’t run power down to where the range hood was going to go. All three of us took turns throwing jabs at this incompetent electrician. Of course, Dad was the electrician.

The solution was for me to climb up into the attic and identify a cable we could junction off and run down the wall over the range. I found the circuit we needed and got ready to cut into the cable. Before I did I shouted down, “Dad, make sure the breaker’s flipped on this, OK?” “Yup,” he shouted as I heard him tromp back to the bedroom where the panel was. I heard a breaker flip, and he tromped back to the kitchen to check his work. “Alright, son, should be all set,” he shouted up into the attic. I grabbed my lineman’s pliers and prepared to cut. Just before I did, I decided to turn my head, close my eyes and stretch away from the cable. When I squeezed the jaws together, there was a loud pop and a brilliant flash of light.

“You OK, Mike?” “Yeah, I’m fine.” “Well,” he said with a big laugh, “I guess that wasn’t it.” I had to laugh as well. “Nope, I guess not.” I looked over at my pliers, which had been given to me as a birthday present by his father, and noticing the large chunk that had been carved out by the arc I added, “And you owe me a pair of Kliens.” He just laughed, said “I guess I do. I’m just glad you’re OK.” 

Well, that Christmas, I did get a new set of Klines. Unlike my 30-year old set, these had rubber grips on them. He also got me a non-contact voltage tester so I wouldn’t be cutting into any more live wires. I’ve used those tools hundreds of times in the last few years. And now they will hold and even deeper meaning for me as they remain a lasting reminder of my father.

I’ll miss you, Dad.