I find it difficult to write about Father's Day and one's father without writing in cliches and over-writing a tribute. My father, Grant L. Whitby, has been gone for 24 years, almost to the day. He died alone in his grubby little apartment. I've always felt sad, and a bit guilty, when I think of the event because no family with him when he passed. He had been lonely for a long time. It's easy to say that his loneliness had been brought on by his own poor choices, but now that I'm older than he was when he died, and I'm living with some of my poor choices, health-wise, I have a different view of my dad's life. Daddy was a product of the Great Depression, of a hard-scrabble farm life in southern Idaho, of an elderly father, and a strict religious upbringing. I think of him as the epitome of the old war song: "How Ya Gonna Keep 'Em Down on the Farm (After They've Seen Paree)?" Leaving his home to work in the CCC's, Daddy returned very rarely usually to attend the funerals of his mother and brother. He was of a generation that sometimes thought a real man didn't cry nor publically embrace or show emotion to his children. He indulged in the kind of life he'd been forbidden: alcohol, tobacco, gambling, etc. He later paid the price of his indulgence: a divorce, a somewhat "uncomfortable" relationship with his children, bankruptcy, and alienation from some of his friends. The death of our brother, Joe, in Viet nam in 1965 was a pivotal time for Daddy. After floating around in the depths of despair, he finally got a grip!! He stopped drinking and joined AA, and he saved enough money to lease his own barber shop. Tragically, he suffered a debilitating stroke, and AA meetings and companionship with his friends from AA became his way of life. He drove an old, "beater" car one handed and thought nothing of heading out on icy roads to go to a meeting or to mentor an AA friend in need.In spite of his frailties/weaknesses, he was a good father. From my dad, I learned the importance of an education. Not necessarily a college education, that was my mom's mantra, but being self-educated, a lifelong learner. My father never finished school, but he read constantly and loved to discuss/argue about almost any topic. He especially loved and devoured any college textbooks I brought home. I also gained my testimony of the truthfulness of the doctrinal teachings of the Mormon Church from my dad. He was what is called a Jack Mormon in church parlance. He believed in the church, had a strong testimony of its doctrine and principles but kept himself alienated from church attendance and participation because of his personal habits. He constantly challenged my testimony by asking me hard doctrinal questions and wanting "proof." In stubbornly seeking proof for my dad, through scripture study and fervent prayer, I gained my own strong testimony. My dad had some hobbies and interests which would show themselves occasionally. He kept our lawn beautifully mowed and manicured. When we moved into our home in about 1954, Daddy fought sagebrush and sand to put in a lawn, which he had to re-seed three times. My mother had a huge plant in the front yard which had overtaken the view from the window, so she wanted it taken down. Daddy attacked it with zest for weeks, finally having to use a small saw on the huge root. Years later, we found out that the plant was a poisonous variety called a castor bean plant. One winter, he was out of work for the winter and driving my mom crazy, so she taught him to crochet. He made a number of afghans, vests, and doilies. He also loved to play the banjo and the harmonica. Just recently, I received this wonderful picture of my grandson, following in his great-grandpa's footsteps! My dad would have been so thrilled. I appreciate, now, my father's life...knowing now that he had to work very, very hard to conquer his personal demons. Particularly, knowing that, in the end, he was able to do so. In all of the turmoil and chaos of my early years, I never doubted my father's love for me. He was very proud of his children. My brother served honorably and unselfishly in the Marine Corps, and my sister and I were school teachers, wives, mothers, of which he was very proud and would brag about to everyone.
This blog is intended to be a small tribute to my dad, but I can't really NOT comment, on Father's Day about the father of my children! My husband is, not at all, the kind of father I had. In trying to sum up what kind of father he is, I think it's safe to say that his mantra is: If the kids need this to help them grow and be happy and safe and secure, we'll sacrifice whatever we have to make it happen. In summing up what my children think of their father, I would repeat what is written on almost every letter, note, phone call, Tom receives: Throughout my life, you have always been there for me, Dad. DITTO FROM ME.
Love and hugs and warm thoughts on this cloudy summer morning.
In my last post, I left out some of my children!! In defense o
