FATHERS DAY
How sad and ironic that Tim Russert, NBC news show host who wrote two best-selling books about his father, died suddenly and unexpectedly on the eve of Father’s Day.
It was always good to know that Russert loved and admired his father, “Big Russ,” so openly, as fathers in general don’t tend to get real good press nowadays. To phrases like “deadbeat dad,” which are often unfairly applied to all divorced fathers, to the hatchet job that TV commercials tend to do on men in general and dads in particular, the old TV series name from the ’50s, “Father Knows Best,” seems to have been changed to “Father Knows Nothing.” To see favorable depictions of American fathers, one of the few places one can turn is BYU Television, operated by the Mormon Church.
But reality is often kinder to dads than feminist-inspired TV commercials or simple-minded catch phrases. Let me tell you a story.
Once upon a time here in Indiana a young man grew up on a farm, learning from his father about plowing and planting, taking care of livestock and dealing with the weather. In his late teens, the young man left the farm and took a job with an industrial firm in a neighborhing town.
When he was in his early 20s the young man met a tall, lovely young woman his age. They began to date, fell in love, and got married. The next year they had a baby boy — but, sadly, he died at birth. The young man and his wife were devastated, naturally, and did not have any more children for a number of years.
Finally, when they were both in their early 40s, the couple had another son, who was as hardy and healthy as could be asked for. The two were finally parents.
A few years later, the man, who had worked in factories and made a good living for his wife and new son, decided he wanted to finally be his own boss and start his own small business, thinking he could do better for his little family in the long run. The three moved to a town a couple of counties away where a piece of land was available, bought it, and built the small business he had dreamed of.
Having gone into debt to make the big move, the couple and their son, now 5 years old, couldn’t live on just what they took in from the business. So the husband and father found a second job, working as a hired hand for a local farmer. And because the son was too young for school (no kindergarten in those days), the father took his son to work with him each day. To the mother’s credit, she didn’t throw an anxiety fit over the safety of her only child — she had grown up on a farm, too, and trusted her husband to keep their little boy safe.
And he did. For two years the father worked on the farm, with the little boy riding on the wooden platform on the back of the old tractor he drove, every day. The boy learned about plowing and planting, about saying “Gee” and “Haw” to horses pulling implements, about the difference between a bailer, a combine and a corn planter. And he loved every minute of being with his dad.
A few years later, when the boy was in school, his father would surprise him twice each summer with, “Want to go to the fair, Sonny?” The county they lived in had no county fair at that time. So the father would take his son to fairs in two different neighboring counties. It was on the weekends, and the father would probably have preferred to take it a little easier at home; after all, he was no longer a young man. But he knew how much his son loved going to the fair. Besides, one of the fairs featured harness racing — and the father would have given anything in his own youth to have become a “sulky driver” in harness races.
The boy was always curious about things like different types of automobiles (“What kind of car is that, Daddy?”) and the father was always patient about providing the information. He was not a man who offered a lot of unsolicited comments, but he would always answer questions when asked — about cars and many other things.
Like the trips to the fair, the father would occasionally, unexpectedly offer an unexpected treat, when he had the time and the money. Once, he asked his son if the boy and his best friend would like to take a trip down to Santa Claus Land. The two boys and the father spent a fun-filled day there — and the son never could figure out how his dad got the idea for the trip, for the attraction was much smaller and less well-known in those days than it is now.
When the boy was about to graduate from high school, with mediocre grades and no possibility of going to college, he was at a loss about what he was going to do with his life. But one evening at the dinner table, his father said, “Why don’t you go into the Army? You could learn a trade, take care of your military obligation, and get some benefits in the long run.” That’s what the boy did, and it made all the difference, for the good, in his life. It was the best advice anyone ever gave him.
And one time years later, when the young man had finished his Army hitch, and he bought the evening meal for both parents at one of the few fast-food restaurants on the hilltop at that time, and he returned to the family business which the parents no longer owned but which the father was running for the new owners for a few days, the first thing his father asked when he walked in with the sacks of sandwiches was, “Did you get something for your mother?” And when the son took the rest of the sandwiches to the home next door where the parents were now living, the first thing his mother said when he walked in was, “Did you get something for your dad?”
After many years of marriage, they were still a loving couple. And the father, a hard-working man who had no real hobbies and was not particularly articulate, but who had uncommon common sense and a wonderful, infectious laugh, gave the son something money can’t buy: He was not just a father — he was a dad, too.
OK, I’m sure by now you’ve all guessed the truth: This man’s name was Tony Engle, his wife was Rubye Wingham Engle, and they were my parents. They’ve both been gone for many years; if Dad read this, he would be embarrassed and probably a little upset with me. He was a reticent man who was never comfortable in the spotlight. But that’s OK; I’ve never written any of this down before, because I never had a column to do it in. Maybe there are still some of you around who knew Dad. If so, I hope you recognized him here. And Dad, if somehow you’re looking over my shoulder in the spirit right now,
Happy Father’s Day!
Old Corporal <corporalko@yahoo.com>
Father’s Day, – Saturday, June 14, 2008 at 19:04:18 (EDT)
