My Dad, the Wild Man Part VI: Laying Him to Rest

Both my parents were firm Christians and without a doubt we all believe we will see one another again in heaven. Thus, the human body isn’t such a big deal after you die.  Of course you have a decent burial, but my parents being my parents, they chose the cheapest burial sites available, near the entrance of the cemetery and next to the road.  We weren’t upset by that at all, but in death as in life, they didn’t compromise on their priorities and they certainly didn’t waste money.

Daddy didn’t want a full-blown funeral; he was an introvert and didn’t think anyone would come.  Wrong.  But we had a small grave-side service, maybe about twenty total including family and a few friends, and his CPA. His CPA really understood him and didn't mind his meticulousness. A nice lunch afterward where people had an opportunity to share their memories. 

First, was one of his ball player friends.  My dad always loved softball. He was a natural athlete and was a great hitter, but even better as a pitcher or first baseman.  Sometimes he’d play shortstop, but really he was a pitcher.  In Southern California there are a LOT of seniors’ softball leagues. He played softball three or four times a week up until his mid-seventies. What we didn’t know, that his softball friend shared, is this:  not only was he always a first-round draft pick in the Orange County league, he was THE FIRST pick as a great pitcher. I wouldn’t be surprised if that was out of maybe 500 guys.

Daddy, tall and in pink, on one of his work softball teams.

He also would be asked to play on teams in national seniors’ softball tournaments in Vegas, where he mixed with guys who’d played in the minor leagues (then he’d play shortstop).  My dad could have played at least in the minor league if he’d made different choices.  Of course, when he went to those Vegas tournaments, he was too cheap to stay in a hotel like the other guys.  Oh no, he’d drive the old camper, park in a city asphalt “campground” parking lot, and sleep in that stifling camper in 100° heat. But he loved his baseball.

My dad had always wanted to white water raft down the Colorado River through the Grand Canyon.  For multiple reasons with my mom (her health was too poor), we never did.  When he was close to 80, we made some inquiries and asked if a rafting group would allow someone with Parkinson’s to come.  They said that as long as he could get into the boat and hold on, they’d take him.  I so wish we could have done that. I’d like to think he is white water rafting and playing baseball in heaven.

Climbing up the back side of Half Dome.

He did get to hike Half Dome in his 70s though, with my sister. It's about a 15 miles hike round-trip, and takes a good 12 hours or more. You climb through the woods, and then up cables on the rounded side of the rock monolith. Thankfully I was pregnant and didn’t have to go; I can’t imagine I would have been up to it.  However, as they hiked and climbed there were lots of other hikers who would say to my dad, “Great to see you up here!” and “Good job, man!”  He was very insulted by this, as if it’s perfectly typical to hike Half Dome in your 70s, and they were implying that he was old.

There were things that I think my dad confided in me but to no one else.  The one about taking a nap before arriving home from work.  Or his two greatest regrets (Cal Tech and Christmas mornings).  He also told me his greatest fear in life: not being able to provide for his family. My dad’s mom was cheap, and my dad was cheap.  My grandma once told my mom that it had been two years since she’d bought any clothing, implying that my mom was a spendthrift with my dad’s money.  Grandma also bought her bras at the drug store, which was a very bad decision, because she had a rather large bosom and they were very poor bras.  But anyway, my dad didn’t like to spend money.  His rule was that he always saved a certain amount, and that once it was saved, you could never pull it out of savings.  Even in retirement, you could never use principal, only earnings.

Growing up, we always shopped at Gemco, which was one step up from Kmart.  Everyone else shopped at normal department stores.  Even in high school, we mostly shopped at Mervyn’s (comparable to Kohl’s), which was fine except we were tall and size 12-14, and sometimes stuff just didn’t fit. We bought our underwear through the Hanes slightly imperfect mail order catalog; sometimes they were very imperfect. So yes, cheap.

After my family had moved to Connecticut, my parents would come and visit and stay for a week or two.  During that time my dad did projects around the house, going to buy paint or lumber as needed. I’d go to the grocery store and he’d come along to help, and put the shopping on his credit card. If we went out to dinner he put in on his card as if it was his treat. At the end of the trip he’d give me a tally of what I owed him, generously rounding down to the next dollar.  So he got the credit card points and I’d have to write him a big check.  Cheap, but I’d deal with it. He was generous with his love, time and skills.

Then apparently at some point he saw the movie On Golden Pond. He decided he didn’t want to be the old cranky crotchety guy, and he changed.  In his 70s he changed and became generous.  People don’t change in their 70s, usually. But now, if he bought something, I didn’t have to pay him back. He paid for Christian private school when one of our daughters wasn’t doing well in public school. He helped us buy cars. He was generous at Christmas. Suddenly he always paid at restaurants, nice ones, including dessert. However, that Puritanical streak kicked in and if we wanted wine, we had to pay for it ourselves.

And the other thing he confided in me was this: he found in the Bible a verse that said it was not for the children to take care of the parents, but for the parents to provide for the children.  He took that seriously and it changed who he was for the last ten years of his life. Not only was he clearly reading his Bible, but he was taking things to heart, considering them, and making changes. So, he did provide well for his family.  Abundantly.  And generously. He worked hard his whole life, to do the right thing, provide, be a Christian husband and daddy.  And he succeeded beyond his wildest dreams.

As I said at the beginning, my dad was a wild man: from how he picked his wife, to driving across the desert to see his fiancé, to ignoring bears and glacier signs; from launching satellites and playing softball and coming to football games; to his plan for dying. But he knew me and understood me and loved me like no one else.  Of course my mom loved me deeply, but she never quite understood me on a cellular level like he did.

One of my last best memories is this: before moving into assisted living, my parents lived about three miles from the beach, in Huntington Beach.  It is the perfect place to watch the sunset.  You can easily park and stand on the bluff and watch the sun go down. It’s always gorgeous, the sand is endless and white, the waves roll in and out, and the sound of that is so very relaxing.  It’s peaceful and sublime.  So when we’d visit and stay with my parents, as it got close to sunset, we’d jump up and rush to the car to go watch the sunset. 

Sunset at Huntington Beach, California

My mom came sporadically, but one night I remember my dad hopping in the car with us as we raced out.  My sister and kids were down on the sand and I was standing on the bluff with my dad, just the two of us.  I made a comment about how we had to take every opportunity to watch the sunset at the beach.  He looked at me and said, “No, I take every opportunity to spend time with my girls.”

It makes me tear-up now just thinking about it.

I miss daddy every day.  What I wouldn’t give for one more camping trip under the stars, with a morning campfire.  Or navigating him through heavy traffic cross country. He was the best daddy a girl could have.  I can’t wait to meet up with him in heaven.