A Tribute to My Dad on Father's Day

As Father’s Day approaches, I wanted to write a tribute to my Father. I started the piece six or seven times and erased them all. I couldn’t decide how I wanted to write it. Why was it so hard? I have a lot of memories that I could share. I think to myself that maybe I didn’t want to share these memories. Maybe, if I share, they won’t be my memories anymore. Then I realized sharing my memories would be the best tribute I could give my Father. 

He was one of eleven children (there were more, only eleven survived). There were five girls and six boys, my Father being the youngest of the boys. His father was an engineer on the train. My Father told me he didn’t like school. It got to the point where my Grandmother would walk him to school each morning making sure he got in the front door. Unbeknownst to my Grandmother, he would head for the back door and be home before her! 

In the summers he would run along side the train and toss my Grandfather’s lunch to him, as the train slowed down, as it approached the town. If any of the children made a face at what they were being served for dinner, my Grandfather would take enough coins out of his pocket and place the money in front of the person who made the face. The money was to take the trolley down to the “poor line” where they could eat their dinner. 

My Father and all five of his brothers were in the service during World War II. My Father was sent to France and became a truck driver. One day they asked him if he would mind driving people around Northern France. He said no and one of the people he drove was Claire Booth Luce. When all the boys came home from the war, their Mother, Aunts, Wives and Girlfriends got together and cooked a huge meal. They all sat down, and after saying a prayer, all six boys got up from the table and left. The women couldn’t understand what had happened, until one of the boys said, “Mother, we’re sorry but Spam is all we’ve eaten during the war and we just can’t eat anymore." Yes, they had made Spam instead of another more costly meat!

When my Father would come to visit we would go grocery shopping and I always stopped by the Spam and asked him if he wanted a can. He’d always laugh and say no thank you. My Father became a policeman, married my Mother and moved into a small house in the country. Two years later they moved into town to a larger house and I was born. My parent’s marriage began to deteriorate and they were divorced when I was six. Every Christmas he would take me Christmas shopping for my Mother and Grandmother. Every Easter he would take me shopping for my Easter Outfit. I would try clothes on and when I found the particular outfit I liked, I would go out and model it for him. I would ask him what he thought, and his answer was always the same, “if you like it, that’s all that matters”. As I think back, I wonder how I really looked in those outfits! 

He became Police Chief, of a nearby town, and on all the major holidays he would come to our house, not to have dinner with us, but to grab something quick to eat and go back to work. He always worked the holidays, and gave his men the time off, with their families. He paid for my college tuition and always made sure I had spending money. When I got married he gave me away and even paid the bar bill for our reception and he didn’t drink. He was happy when my daughters were born and brought them gifts. 

When my marriage fell apart, he was there to help me through it, and never judged me or made any comments. He gave me money so that I was able to move into a place of my own. When I married for the second time, he came down to Texas and gave me away, once again. As we were setting up the food for the small reception, we had two separate punch bowls. One punch bowl would contain alcohol and one would not. My Father (who, remember, didn’t drink) volunteered to add the alcohol and proceeded to empty a whole bottle of Everclear into the punch. From what people said later, it was the best punch they ever had! 

He was happy when my third daughter was born. When he became ill, I flew back to PA to help him find an oncologist. I knew he would fight the cancer with his whole being. He said something that took me completely by surprise, if he lost his hair, he wouldn’t do any chemotherapy! I was shocked, his hair was thick and wavy, but I had no idea how vain he was in regards to his hair! The doctor assured him it wouldn’t and it didn’t. 

My Father, for as long as I can remember, always said he didn’t want a funeral. His reasoning being if they couldn’t talk to him when he was alive, he didn’t want them talking to him when he was dead! He fought the battle for a little over three years. The last two months of his life were spent in the hospital. I flew back to Pennsylvania and spent every day with him, while my husband took care of our daughter, in Texas. My Father and I spent hours talking. He told me that he wished he would have done things differently over the years. I think it made him feel good that we had this time together, just he and I. He realized that I loved him unconditionally and it didn’t matter what did or didn’t happen over the years. 

He passed away on September 18th, twenty years ago this coming September. We did as he requested, no funeral and we scattered his ashes around his favorite hunting spot in the mountains of Pennsylvania. Well, all but a little bit, which I kept for myself. I guess I just wanted to keep a little of him with me forever.

About the Author:

Melaine Findlay is an administrative assistant, married and has three grown daughters.