I'm thinking of him a lot this week, probably because Sunday, December 11th, marks the anniversary of his passing from this earth. Now gone from us for nearly 29 years, he has never been forgotten by me and I love him and miss him still.
Many of you reading this blog will remember him from the "days of yore" back in Haven, KS. But for those of you who never met him, I'd like to tell you some of the things most meaningful to me about his existence here.
I've often said that one of the greatest gifts my parents gave to me and my 6 siblings was learning the value of hard work. It's all we ever knew and we learned to do so just by watching them. I'm sure at times we all probably thought our parents were "mean" because when other kids were out having fun, we were either working on the farm or in town at our family's business, "Scott's Cafe." But as they were both quick to point out, time and time again, "hard work never killed anyone!" And they were right. Dad was the greatest of role models for us as we learned from his example of what working hard looked like.
One of the things I will always remember about my dad was his love for the harvest fields. For over 25 years, Daddy would pack up and leave with combines and wheat trucks and head south to the tiny town of Davidson, Oklahoma. Beginning in mid-May and running clear into the month of September, he followed the wheat harvest right through the Great Plains states of Oklahoma, Kansas, Nebraska, and both of the Dakotas. And when the wheat harvest was over, he headed back home to change out the headers on the combines and head south again to Dalhart, Texas to cut corn and milo there.
You know there are some guys whose blood has that "John Deere" green color? Well, my dad's blood ran "red" to honor his Massey Ferguson equipment. It was always that way, year after year after year. And when Daddy wore a cap in the summertime to cover up his bald head, it was always one with the initials "MF" on it, in acknowledgement of his beloved machinery.
You know there are some guys whose blood has that "John Deere" green color? Well, my dad's blood ran "red" to honor his Massey Ferguson equipment. It was always that way, year after year after year. And when Daddy wore a cap in the summertime to cover up his bald head, it was always one with the initials "MF" on it, in acknowledgement of his beloved machinery.
Much of what my father taught me came from his experiences in the fields. Daddy expected only the best from his workers and "heaven help" the combine driver who left wheat standing along the edges uncut. That was a definite "don't you even think of doing it" with my dad. He always made the remark that farmers had the entire winter to "ruminate" over whether or not a harvest crew had done a good job or a bad one. He didn't want a bunch of North Dakota farmers to have anything but praise for the job his crew had done. Daddy was proud of the fine way that his machines would cut a field of wheat or corn or milo. He intended to always do a quality job, nothing less. How often I've remembered that as I went about life's way.
I don't ever remember my dad raising a hand to me in anger, in fact, I can't ever remember getting spanked by him for any reason. Many of us kids talked about that very thing in the years after he was gone. Most of us wished he would have spanked us when we did something worthy of it...instead, he would just get the saddest of looks on his face and not say anything. And that hurt way worse than any spanking would. We hated to disappoint him so we tried our best to stay out of trouble and on the "straight and narrow".
I'm sure he made a lot of sacrifices for us all as we were growing up. Because of his experiences of not getting to finish high school, Daddy was adamant that we all become the best students we could be, graduate from high school and go on to college some day to further our education. All 7 of us made it through high school and many of us on to college. He would be proud today.
I was so blessed to have a father like him who was there to hug me and say congratulations when I graduated from high school in 1973 and then to hug me with tears in his eyes the day I graduated from college in 1979. He was there to "walk me down the aisle" when I was married in November of 1976 and there to hold my firstborn child in October of 1980, his grandson, Ricky Miller. And even when he couldn't be there with us all the time, I always felt his presence was there anyway. Can't explain that really but it was a comforting feeling.
Daddy became ill with lung cancer in 1981 when my son Ricky was only 7 months old. He "fought the good fight" to be sure but nothing could stop the cancer from doing what cancer is so very good at accomplishing. He passed away in the very early morning hours of Saturday, December 11, 1982. The battle with cancer was brief in duration, only 18 months and in a way, now years later I realize what a blessing it was. Many of you reading this have suffered in some form or another from the ravages of cancer. Sadly, perhaps you have a lost a family member too....a parent, grandparent, sibling, child or close friend. It's a horrible disease to have to face but one way or the other, we all have had to summon up the strength and courage to face it. God provides, always.
My dad was only 59 years old when he died and only one month short of his 60th birthday in January. I remember at the time thinking, "wow, Daddy was really old!" Now, his 56-year old daughter writes these words with the knowledge that she too is very close to that age. Somehow or another, he didn't seem that old after all. How funny that the years have a way of changing our perspective on things such as these. Daddy would laugh at me for saying all of this, I'm sure.
Friends, if you are still blessed to have a parent, a dad or mom still living, please keep in contact with them. Call them for no special reason other than to say "I love you!" For the holidays this year, give them the gift of your "presence" which will mean much more to them than any fancy schmansy high dollar gift from the mall could. The fragility of life would seem to dictate the need to not waste any time in doing it, either. Ok, end of my sermon....AMEN.
So Daddy, I'm betting that if there are wheat fields in Heaven, then you are in them right now. There are no mud holes, the farmers are all happy, and the wheat gets 60 bushels to the acre. Give Mom a hug from me and tell Mike and Janice and all the others that some day we will all be back together again. In the meantime, I remain here on earth, proud to have been your daughter and thankful that you were my dad.
The day he walked me down the aisle....November 27, 1976...his first, last and only time to wear a tuxedo. This picture is PRICELESS to me~
Daddy in the harvest fields of Kansas, June of 1976~this is the way I prefer to remember him.
Daddy in the harvest fields west of Balfour, North Dakota-his very last harvest to ever participate in...August of 1977~
Daddy became ill with lung cancer in 1981 when my son Ricky was only 7 months old. He "fought the good fight" to be sure but nothing could stop the cancer from doing what cancer is so very good at accomplishing. He passed away in the very early morning hours of Saturday, December 11, 1982. The battle with cancer was brief in duration, only 18 months and in a way, now years later I realize what a blessing it was. Many of you reading this have suffered in some form or another from the ravages of cancer. Sadly, perhaps you have a lost a family member too....a parent, grandparent, sibling, child or close friend. It's a horrible disease to have to face but one way or the other, we all have had to summon up the strength and courage to face it. God provides, always.
My dad was only 59 years old when he died and only one month short of his 60th birthday in January. I remember at the time thinking, "wow, Daddy was really old!" Now, his 56-year old daughter writes these words with the knowledge that she too is very close to that age. Somehow or another, he didn't seem that old after all. How funny that the years have a way of changing our perspective on things such as these. Daddy would laugh at me for saying all of this, I'm sure.
Friends, if you are still blessed to have a parent, a dad or mom still living, please keep in contact with them. Call them for no special reason other than to say "I love you!" For the holidays this year, give them the gift of your "presence" which will mean much more to them than any fancy schmansy high dollar gift from the mall could. The fragility of life would seem to dictate the need to not waste any time in doing it, either. Ok, end of my sermon....AMEN.
So Daddy, I'm betting that if there are wheat fields in Heaven, then you are in them right now. There are no mud holes, the farmers are all happy, and the wheat gets 60 bushels to the acre. Give Mom a hug from me and tell Mike and Janice and all the others that some day we will all be back together again. In the meantime, I remain here on earth, proud to have been your daughter and thankful that you were my dad.
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