My Dad is 78 years old.  He lived most of his life in a small Southern Iowa town.  He left twice, once to serve in the air force during the Korean War and once to give a new job a shot in Miami, FL.  While in Florida, a friend in his home town offered him a better job if he would come back to Iowa, which he did.  During the year he was in Miami, he and my Mom adopted me, their only child.  I am guessing I have been a pretty expensive souvenir over the years.

Much of what I believe and who I strive to be is because of my admiration for my Father.  He stands all of 5 feet 3 inches tall.  He never attended college.  He provided for his family through several job changes and a couple of serious lay-offs.  As I look back, I can't think of one time when he gave me advice or made a parenting decision that was wrong.  There must have been a few...I mean...c'mon...but I honestly can't remember one.  I do remember the support I received for the things I wanted to do.  My Dad is a pretty shy gentleman with a great sense of kind humor.  When I became active in music, he and my Mom helped out whenever possible.  When it came to college, there was no question I would go and both he and my Mom made sure I went to the college of my choice.  It was no small thing.  I suppose it is a familiar story, but I certainly did not appreciate all that my parents did for me at the time.  Now that I have 2 sons of my own....all I can say is "wow".

I am going to tell you a story about my Dad that sort of captures how I see him.  As stories like this go there are deeper and more subtle meanings that become apparent over time.  I was in the fourth or fifth grade and my cub scout group was on a trip to go on a trail ride.  Where we went was a horse stable built for the express purpose of "trail rides".  The horses were older and the trails were worn into ruts.  It was more of a walk with a horse as opposed to riding one.  I was thrilled.  My Dad had grown up around horses. He had even owned a couple of quarter horses which he later had to sell when it became too expensive to stable them.  That day we arrived at the stable and it was packed.  It must have been "Cub Scout Day" because it wasn't just my troop waiting to ride.  Riders were sent away in shifts that slowly loped down the lane to an open, rocky field that led to the actual trail.  I couldn't wait!  When it was our turn it was just my Dad and a friend of mine that were sent off.  There was no guide, it just wasn't that kind of trail.  We had travelled about 3/4 of the way down the lane when we heard a shout behind us.  It really startled me.  More shouts followed.  We turned to look behind us and we saw a run-away horse barreling down on us at a full run.  What wasn't apparent right away was that there was a small boy with his foot caught in the stirrup being brutally dragged by the horse like a rag doll.  It looked like something out of an old western, but it was real and headed directly for us.  The boy wasn't being dragged behind the horse, he was being dragged right next to the horses thundering hooves.  We were the only thing between that horse and the open, rocky field beyond.  My Dad got off of his horse.  He said to my friend and me to stay on our horses and not to move.  He calmly and quickly moved his horse sideways across the path and did the same with my and my friend's horse.  My heart was pounding.  It was a long time ago but it seems like it happened last week when I remember it.  The runaway horse came rushing right up to us and abruptly stopped.  My Dad got the boys foot out of the stirrup, pushed the horse out of the way and kept the young man calm on the ground.  The rest is a bit of a blurr as adults came running up to us.  The young boy was picked up and taken back to the stable, scraped and bruised, but not seriously injured.  I don't remember anyone thanking my Dad.  Surely they did...right?  My Dad did not hang around to talk to anyone after the boy had been taken away.  He got back on his horse and said to us..."Good job, guys."  We went on with our trail ride.  The only impression I have after that is thinking my horse was so old, it wouldn't run if I electrified it.  The bottom line is that I watched my Dad save a kid's life.  You might think, well...he saved a kid from maybe getting hurt more.  You might be right.  When I think about that day I remember how unbelievabley fast and wild that run away horse seemed.  It looked wild and frantic.  Dust and dirt flying around it.  I also remember the open field where there would have been no opportunity to corral the horse or catch it.  My Dad saved that kid's life.  He didn't panick...he didn't hesitate...he kept us calm...he knew what to do.  Afterwards, he made sure the boy was ok, but did not draw any attention to himself.  I don't think anyone even noticed him as the guy who stopped the horse.  I don't think my Dad would tell this story like I just did...at all.  If you asked him he would say he remembered that day and that poor kid who fell and spooked a horse but ended up just getting some scrapes and bruises.  That is my Pop.

Four years ago my folks moved up to where I live to spend time with my sons.  It was a tough move for my Dad  He left the town where he had spent 90% of his life to start a new life in a strange town.  Not that he didn't want to spend time with his Grandsons.  I don't care how you slice it, it was an emotional move for him.  Four months after they moved my Mom passed away.  My Dad and Mom were married for 51 years and had rarely spent a night apart.  It was devastating for my Dad.  I was so worried for him.  Luckily he was near me.
Much had already been taken care of in the recent move that would have been very difficult if they had been living in their old house when this happened.  I helped my Dad however I could, but I also watched him, once again, exhibit his unique brand of quiet courage.  Not quiet like.."I don't want to talk about it" or "I'm tough".  Not those things at all.  He grieved and let me help him.  His grief was healthy and appropriate.  He stuggled but kept going.  About six months after my Mom died, I went through a painful divorce not of my choice.  I don't know if I grieved appropriately.  I do know that watching my Dad handle my Mother's passing helped me immensely.  I also know that even though his wife of 51 years had passed away, he was there for me and my sons like a rock.  I won't ever be able to thank him.  If you asked him, he wouldn't mention it.  He would only tell you how proud he is of me.

Today my Dad lives in a senior apartment complex.  He has a lot of friends.  He walks a couple miles every day and he plays bingo once a week.  He takes care of my sons when I am at work.  He is a good Grandpa.  He never invented anything or managed a company.  He never has had much money or power, but I wouldn't trade a day with my Dad for anything in this world.  He is as good as it gets.

Oh, and as if I needed to tell you....my Dad is a lifelong Democrat.  In the last presidential election he liked all of the Democratic candidates, but settled on Barack after giving it some careful thought.  He believes he made the right decision.  He can't watch Hannity, O' Reilly or listen to Rush.  He tries, occaisionally, to see what is up and it really gets him mad.  I love it.  He can't believe what some on the right get away with..."Death Panels"...really?!  He represents the very demographic the right is continually trying to scare.  For him, at least, it isn't working.  My Dad would never have wanted to serve in public office.  I understand why it would never have worked to have someone like my Dad serve in that capacity.....yep...I get it....but I think we could do a whole lot worse.  (and we have)