HI, MOM! IT'S FATHER'S DAY

Father's Day! What more can I say about Dad. My very earliest memory of him was his tossing a rubber ball to me. We had moved to the farm. I have no remembrance of that move at all. Too young. But some time afterwards Dad was tearing away the worn back porch to replace it and underneath it he found this brightly colored ball. I must have been stationed close by for I remember him tossing it to me. Of course I dropped it and it bounced! It must have been the first time I'd ever seen anything bounce and I guess it scared me, for the next thing I remember was being in Dad's arms and he was trying to console me and show me the ball wasn't alive. From thereon Dad was on hand to console me when things went wrong. Not only to comfort me when things went wrong but he was always THERE. Just THERE, morning, noon and night.

Some time ago I asked someone why, when the TV camera scans a crowd and the ones who know they're in view shout, "Hi, Mom!" Never a "Hi, Dad!" My listener suggested that it was because so many don't know who their Dad is, where he is and if they've ever seen him. That's a sobering thought for Father's Day.

The next thing I remember about my Dad was that I was in his arms again, but this time he was crying. I had, unnoticed, followed Grandpa to the hay field. Unnoticed, perhaps, because I was not much taller than the hay. One field led to another and there so many pretty things to touch and smell--white flowers, pink flowers, purple flowers, and the River!

Ah, the River. It must have been a great worry to my parents at first. Just like a farm pond must be a worry to farm families with small children.

With six older persons to keep an eye on me, although my sisters weren't all that much older, I suppose each one thought that surely someone knew where I was.

As the afternoon lengthened I was found to be missing. Everyone, so they said, headed for the River. And I was there, walking calmly along the bank where the Deep Hole was, watching the funny little water bugs skating on the water and things jumping up and down out of the water and big birds flying off in a hurry. Wild ducks, I suppose.

It was getting dark, but what did that matter to me? I heard my name being called from six different directions. Then along came Dad, running up the river bank and gathering me up into his arms, tears making his cheeks wet.

I've often thought about another Father who seeks for His lost children and how glad He must be when they are found.

Every time Dad went to town and returned I came to understand that if I subsequently went to the buggy and searched in the folds of the turned back top I'd find a little striped sack of candy.

Mama was the pragmatist, doing wonderful things with what was at hand. Dad was the visionary who was always holding up before us grand things that could be done. He painted pictures on our minds. The hill in front of our home would be lovely made into an apple orchard, wouldn't it? We could "see" the thousands of blossoms in the spring, the red apples in the autumn. "They'll roll down to the creek and make cider," he suggested. Other times we "saw" that hill as a sheep pasture, not with only 50 or 500 but with 5,000 sheep grazing there!

Dad had a "thing" about lights. He was the first to bring home a Coleman lamp. Anyone remember them? Then, after many setbacks, he rigged up a carbide light system for the farm house. Carbide and water make gas, you know, and that gas burns, making light.

When we moved to the little town of Doe Run, it was still "lamp lit." Dad and partner formed the Doe Run, Dellasus Light and Power Company that brought electricity across the river and through the woods to our little town. On a certain evening, at a certain hour, after all wires were up and the switch turned on, we were all to turn on our lights at once. It was better than the current lighting of the Christmas tree in Times Square, although not nearly so many bulbs burning.

Hunting for the lost, bringing light and BEING THERE--not a bad thing for an earthly father.

REJOICE!