My husband Louis tells me he has never known anyone who can identify the make and model of old cars or the variety of garden flowers or the names of geographic features like I do. Oh, I'm sure there are plenty of people out there who also know the same bits of trivial information. But my storehouse came to me because of my dad. Spending time with him was an ongoing education--a fun one!
When I was little I used to go with my dad in his old blue Ford pickup truck that had a floor stick shift. On his days home from his railroad run, he would back the truck to our kitchen door which was about midway on the 100 foot driveway and beep the horn. When I rushed to the door he would ask if I wanted to go with him. YES! and I would jump in ready for any adventure to go to the dump, to the car dealership, to see a friend from the railroad, to visit the building site for new construction (no OSHA then), to the hardware store, or to the greenhouse. He often called me Chum. But my favorite name he had for me was Chicky Pete. I don't know where he got that moniker, but I loved having him call me that.
It was during those great times together that he would point out the cars on the road as they passed. Of course, they didn't speed by at 80 mph, so it was easy to call my attention to them. Then when we saw those cars again as they passed, my dad would quiz me as to their names. Long drives on vacations gave lots of opportunity to play this game. Every time I gave a correct answer, my dad would say, "You're a sharp tack!" It took me awhile to figure out it meant he thought I was clever to remember what he had taught me.
Our yard was beautiful, well-cared for, and so inviting. Dad spent much of his time between trips on the railroad hand watering, weeding, planting and pruning in the yard. When I was with my dad while he worked, he always kept up a running commentary. He taught me how to recognize our Chinese Elm, Birch, and ornamental plum and crabapple trees by their leaves and their bark. The evergreens by their needles, shape, and color. The pansies, sweet peas, asters, delphiniums, cosmos, bachelor buttons, and other varieties of flowers that cheered the immaculate flower beds with their fragrant blossoms. Honeysuckle, lilac and Bridal Wreath bushes which filled in along the driveway and north side of our yard between our house and the neighbor's were all part of the plant identity he helped me with, too. On Memorial Day I went with my dad to purchase the peonies and gladiolas we later placed in large containers on my brother's grave. And always the quizzes--what kind of flower (tree, bush, etc.) is this? I also learned that a tree needed to be pruned until the crotch of the tree was the height of a man--then all the growth would go to the heighth instead of the width of a tree.
Dad loved geography and history. I was the recipient of his vast store of knowledge from the World Book Encyclopedias I often saw him reading. His interest in the world and the earth took him all over the United States by train and on a cruise ship to Hawaii (and in his waning years on a plane to Sweden to visit me and my family while we were living there). My parents were 43 when I was born, so I went along on the later vacations including the one to Hawaii with my mom and my older sister. Along the way on all these vacations, Dad taught me the names of the places, the rivers, the mountains, and the other interesting features found on the maps. Again he quizzed me from time to time on vacation and just driving in the car. He was particularly pleased when I could recall "hard" names like Snoqualmie, the beautiful falls in Washington State or the Pali Overlook in Hawaii.
My dad didn't read stories to me when I was a little girl. He didn't get down on the floor and play with me. He didn't take me to the movies. But I knew he thought I was a pretty cool kid from the compliments he gave me about my successes in school, my triumphs playing the piano including at my annual recital, at Church (beginning in the Junior Sunday School when I was 11 years old), for Rotary Club, school choirs, and as an accompanist for solo singers and those who played instruments. And he always spoke with me like I was on an equal footing with him--not "talking down" to me.
As I got older, Dad gave me opportunities for grown up responsibility which he knew I could handle. For example he took me out to the gravel pits north of our town and taught me to drive his old blue pick up truck with the floor stick shift when I was just eleven years old. From then on our trips together for errands included opportunity for me to practice my driving skills. My mother didn't drive, and I know he wanted to make sure she had a way to get around town when he was gone with his railroad trip. It didn't seem odd at all that those driving experiences morphed into taking my mom to Salt Lake City a time or two when I was in high school. Even though I was apprehensive about those assignments, Dad didn't bat an eye when he told me I was skilled enough for him to trust me to do that. I believed him.
Clearly my awareness and enjoyment of life, and the world near and far, are directly proportional to the time I spent with my dad when I was a child. He was a great teacher!
Thanks, Dad!
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