Dad

            DAD

It would be fair to say that memories of my dad are skewed toward the positive just as memories of my mom are probably distorted toward the negative.  He was my first caregiver, my mother having a prolonged stay at the hospital postpartum because of phlebitis of her lower extremities.  Of course I don’t remember those days of infancy but perhaps my perception of him as the most significant nurturing person in my life had its roots there.  A very early memory is bedtime when he would rub my back and hum or whistle “My Bonny lies over the ocean, my Bonnie lies over the sea...” I wasn’t very old when I realized that he was singing off key but that didn’t diminish my appreciation for the intimacy behind his song.

Born February 3, 1895, the youngest of nine children with a 25 year span between himself and his oldest sister Alice, he was raised on a farm near Ainsworth, Nebraska.  His father William Davie McAndrew was born in Glasgow Scotland 16 June 1843 and his mother Emily Dowding was born 18 October, 1852 in Whitshire, England.  Emily died in 1908 when he was 13 years old and William Davie died in 1919, with a note on his tombstone indicating that he had been one of General Sherman’s bodyguards during the Civil War.   My dad attended school in Ainsworth through high school.  He took one class during the fall after he had graduated in order to be able to play football for a fifth year.  He was the quarterback on the team and we still have the team picture in which he was the only one required or at least encouraged to wear a helmet.  Sometime in high school he began dating my mother, a relationship that was to last through more than 50 years of marriage.  He joined the army after the onset of World War 1 and was promoted to the rank of Sergeant.  He did not see combat duty but was stationed in France at the close of the war.  Rather than return home immediately he accepted an offer to act as chauffeur for two well -to-do gentlemen who toured Europe for the next 6 months. He often remarked how well he was treated by his employers who included him in all of their activities.  Soon after his return home he got a job as a mail carrier that he continued until his retirement.  He never complained even when he had to carry packages through unshoveled walks during the Christmas season.  He did, however counsel me on my way to college, “I want you to do whatever you want to do in life but since I’ve already done the mail carrier thing you might want to try something else.” At work he walked an average of 20 miles daily.  He took up golf when I was in high school and after work he would then carry his clubs and walk the golf course burning still more calories.  It’s not surprising that he was chronically trying without success to gain weight.  When it was nearly time to retire he sold the small farm where he had spent his early childhood and bought 80 acres of trees and an old farm house constructed with wooden pegs rather than nails near Evergreen, Colorado. He made the purchase because it was beautiful.  It later turned out to have been an excellent investment that made retirement financially comfortable.

My dad was a shy person who always managed to avoid being the center of attention and this meshed well with my mother who wanted to be constantly in that position. He was known as Honey in our immediate family and Jack by friends, both nicknames given him by my sister Jean; later called Pop by me and occasionally addressed by a relative by his real name Carl. His ruddy complexion, tendency to blush and shyness were all traits I inherited but over the years I overcompensated for the shyness part of the triad.  When I studied with Carl Rogers he described the characteristics that made psychotherapists effective in promoting emotional growth as attitudes conveyed to their clients or patients which included unconditional positive regard, empathy, and consistency (self congruence).   My dad conveyed these attitudes to me no matter what I said or did and that I think is why I loved him without ambivalence.  His shyness did not prevent him from being an active listener or from offering support.  I always knew there was nothing I could say or do that would lead to his rejection of me.  I always knew that he would vicariously experience my joys and successes while in no way using me for this purpose. 

One bond we shared was sports.  He spent endless hours playing catch with me with footballs and baseballs in early years.  Later he was the consummate fan when I participated on high school teams.  He got most excited about football since this was the sport in which he had excelled.  I don’t recall him ever criticizing my play and I’m sure I frustrated him when he would try to console me after a loss and I would be too much into sulking and self- recrimination to respond.  The only time he ever interfered with the coach was when I sustained a mild concussion that became evident to him when I momentarily lined up with the other team getting ready for the next play.  He insisted the coach take me out of the game to see what was wrong. 

My dad never read to me and I don’t recall him reading more than the local newspaper but he let me know that he was proud of my academic accomplishments and thought they were important.  He couldn’t carry a tune but he attended and seemed to enjoy every musical performance in which I participated.

One of my dad’s interests was inventing things.  The thing I recall was an airplane swing that used a stick to go up, down or side to side.  He was also fascinated with cars and was able to buy his first new car, a Ford,  just before the onset of World War II.  When new cars were no longer available and the value of his went up he sold it.  We then had a series of fun used cars that included a Chevrolet Coupe, a Willis and a Buick with a rumble seat.  

My love and admiration for my father was prompted less by what he did than by who he was. He was a gentle man, a kind man, a caring man, a man of unquestionable integrity.  He never expressed a wish for more than the life he enjoyed and his pleasures came from simple things like eating chocolate ice cream before bedtime.

After he had retired and he and my mother were living in a cabin near Evergreen, Colorado, we had an interesting talk in which he philosophized (not something he usually did) about how things were changing in our relationship.   He talked about how he had been the one for me to lean and depend on for so many years and how now he was feeling dependent upon me. He then began to tell me about the tangible things he wanted me to have after he was gone.  I couldn’t bear at that moment to contemplate his death and responded by saying these weren’t things I really needed.  Many times I’ve wished I could have that moment back again so I could show my appreciation.

And when he did die the experience was not what I had expected.  The dying part was the toughest.  He was in intensive care for almost a week, totally unresponsive after a heart attack plus a stroke.  With permission of sister Jean and my mother I talked to the resident doctor who was his primary physician and insisted that heroic measures to keep him alive stop.  His funeral was at a funeral home near the trailer park in Mesa, Arizona where he and my mother first spent winters and then took permanent residence.  During the brief ceremony a lady in back of the room cried and wailed constantly.  When the service was over I approached her and asked who she was, noting that on my several visits to the trailer park I didn’t recall having met her and that by her reaction she must have been very fond of my father.  She said she had never met him.  Turns out that what she did for entertainment was to go to the funerals she saw listed in the newspaper.  I found this as did my sister Jean to be very funny and we laughed as soon as we were out of her sight.  I was first surprised that I could laugh at the time of my dad’s funeral and then went on a brief guilt trip spurred by the thought that if someone had seen me laugh they would think I didn’t love or respect him.  I did think about him often in the following weeks and months and this would bring tears but not pain because the recall was of pleasant times shared.  To this day I occasionally have a dream that something really good has happened to me and or my family and I awake thinking I want to call him and tell him about it.  The tears are gone.