Emma

One of my favorite memories of my dad was one year, for either my mother’s birthday or Mother’s Day (we often celebrated them together since they usually fell in the same week) he had this great idea to play a prank on her regarding her gift. He really wanted to buy my mother some new lamps for the living room to replace the old ones. Coincidentally, our house also was in need of a new toilet. My dad decided he wanted to wrap the toilet in a big box as a gift for her and put it in the middle of the living room, and have the beautiful new lamps (which had a convenient arm feature so you could move the light to where you needed it within about a 9” radius – it also had to be cool and functional if my dad was going to buy it) already set up in the living room. This was the early 90s, and my dad was also really into taking family videos. So what we did was have the gift-wrapped toilet sitting in the middle of the living room floor, set up the video camera to capture everything, and bring my mom into the room with her eyes closed, facing away from the lamps but toward the camera. I remember this especially because I was an accomplice in the prank.

My mother opened her eyes, opened her new toilet, expressed mostly joy (which I cannot help but believe had a touch of disappointment to receive a new toilet as a gift), and then my dad, behind the camera, asked me to adjust the lighting since the picture wasn’t optimal for viewing.

“Emma, why don’t you go turn on the lamp for me?” he asked. “It’s just a little to dark. Could you please adjust the lighting?”

At which time I got up, walked to one of the new lamps, and adjusted the new arm or perhaps turned the light up a notch (another feature my dad liked about the new lamps – they had different levels of brightness). My mother did not turn around.

We continued to talk about “how great the new toilet was” and my mother thanked us a few more times, and of course my dad interrupted us again because the lighting was still “not quite right.”

“I’m sorry – Emma?” He said. “Can you please adjust the lighting again? Maybe try the lamp on the other side, I’m still having trouble seeing Connie’s face,” or something to that effect. This time, when I got up to turn on the other lamp, my mother turned around and noticed the new lamps. She laughed, squealed, maybe cried a little, and my dad and sister and I all laughed too. We assured my mother that the toilet was not meant for her, and that the cool adjustable gold-and-white lamps were her intended gift. She thanked us again, and this time not for the toilet. Of course, it’s all on videotape.

I believe that, because my father never had any sons, he taught us many things he would have liked to teach boys. He taught me how to throw a baseball – we played catch often in our backyard. He taught me how to cast a fishing line, which we practiced in the campsite parking lot for hours before we were allowed on the lake with it. He taught me how to use tools, and I remember receiving a toolbox from him for a gift once as a teenager. I thought it was the lamest gift, and had probably asked for a CD or cash or a gas card for my car. Really, I use that toolbox almost daily, and it was one of the most useful gifts I have ever received. He taught me how to spackle walls correctly and that it was okay to use toothpaste if you run out of spackle. He taught me how to shoot pool – when I was young we bartered an old washing machine for a pool table, and I went with him to go pick it up. He taught me how to hold a cue stick and chalk it properly, and he built his own triangle out of wood for us to rack the balls. It only had two sides, so he taught me how to keep all the balls in a two-sided triangle, too. He was a master pool player. I remember the only time I beat him at a game of pool, fair and square. I was around 15 years old at the time, at a tavern in northern Wisconsin, and yes, there were witnesses. To this day I continue to win against grown men at billiards, fair and square. I was taught by one of the best.

This year on my 27th birthday, my dad called to wish me a happy birthday.
“Twenty-seven,” he said. “I was your age when I met your mother.”
“You’re right,” I replied. “That was a long time ago.”
“It was the happiest day of my life,” he told me.

My dad never forgot to mention how much he loved my mother, and how he thanked God every day that she was a part of his life. After I left home and the three of them lived together, my dad, having worked from home, would start my mom’s car every morning in the winter to warm it up for her, and brush the snow off. Rose said that he would do the same for her, too.

“Dad really loves mom a lot,” Rose told me once. We have agreed to never settle for any relationship that does not make us as happy as our mother and father made each other.

My dad was very thorough in everything he did, which is a trait I indeed received from him. He taught me to never take on any task unless I was going to do it the right way. No half-done jobs, give everything your all.

My dad taught me a great deal of responsibility, and when I was 15 years old my parents told me I’d need to get a job and buy a car if I wanted to get a driver’s license. My dad went with me to open my first bank account, to which I deposited my paychecks from my part-time job. I bought my first car, a 1991 Chevrolet Cavalier convertible, when I was 17 for $1500. Besides becoming instantly way cooler, I believe this was a major step in my life toward adulthood. I am incredibly grateful for my parents who raised me to appreciate the value of things in life, and always encouraged my individualism.

It was very important to my father to give generously, but to be anonymous when doing so. He taught me that acts of kindness and charity are wonderful, but to partake in them for the purpose of helping others, not to garner praise or boost my reputation. This is a value I have kept with me my entire life.