A Father's Gift: 52 Ancestors

In this tribute to Father's Day, here is a scrapbook memory of my father. Dad was a linguist and musician. Our relationship was strained, so it's difficult to remember him in the same way as my mother (sorry, Dad).

Quick drop template and elements from The Blues, May 2015, ClubScrap

For his memorial service, I focused on his musical gifts.

My relationship with Dad was complicated. We rarely agreed about anything, but one thing we did agree on is that music is an essential part of life. I thought his preference for hymns was limiting and he thought my preference for bubble-gum rock was silly. We were both right.

I recently heard about a study that found the music we listened to as teens is the basis for our life-long musical preferences. Dad, growing up in Christian boarding schools and attending Bible College, was immersed in hymns. He loved those hymns and didn’t like at all the recent movement of churches away from hymns to praise music. He loved to sing and also enjoyed writing his own arrangements for choir.

Dad started playing hymns on the harmonica as a child and he learned trombone and keyboard instruments as he got older. As a young adult, he played in a brass trio with his brothers. He played his accordion or piano for family and church. One memory he shared was of taking pipe organ lessons while in college. He must have been thrilled to have the opportunity to fill that church with the powerful sound of his favorite hymns.

Dad felt that hymns sung in English were much less meaningful to [non-English speakers] than if the words were in [their native language]. He added to his projects translating and updating existing translations of hymns, resulting in an updated publication of a [native language] hymnbook. I believe the hymnbook was second in his heart only to the [native language] New Testament, as it was a way to share his beloved hymns with the [native] people.

Recently, as I worked with my tile saw, I thought about the gifts that my Dad gave me. One of those gifts was knowing my way around tools. When Dad needed an assistant, one of the kids would help. I'm grateful that he helped me be more prepared to hang curtain rods and do minor home maintenance.

Dad gave me the gift of planning and list making, though certainly not intentionally. He had what was probably ADD and so had great trouble with planning the sequence of everyday tasks. I learned young to plan whenever he and I were doing something without Mom. To this day I make lists when I feel scattered.

He gave me the gift of maps and geography. Since Mom was blind and Dad drove, he needed a navigator. He taught us how to read maps and guide him on family trips. He absolutely would have hated Waze. He wanted to see and plan his route in advance.

He also taught me to drive a stick-shift. That was definitely a labor of love! Thank you, Dad!

He gave me Wisconsin. Dad tended to be serious, but occasionally the whimsical came out. By the summer before I entered high school, we had traveled in or through about 20 states and much of Mexico. Wisconsin was not one of those states. While staying in Chicago that summer, we visited a cousin who lived north of the city, not far from the Wisconsin state line. At the end of the evening, Dad agreed to drive over that state line. Before heading back to the city, he let us out of the car and had us touch the ground. We could now add Wisconsin to our travel tally.

Dad gave me the gift of family history. He loved to tell the story of taking an ocean voyage in the days following the Pearl Harbor attack. He was a child, but vividly remembered that risky voyage. Though he was an orphan, he also shared what he knew about his family of aunts, uncles, cousins and siblings. His curiosity and knowledge are part of the foundation of my family history adventure.

As I ponder this first Father's Day without Dad, I know he gave me many gifts.

I am not sharing personal and identifying details about my father at this time. I am still keeping a certain level of privacy for my parents, though both have passed.