Published: 06/20/10 1:20 am | Updated: 06/20/10 1:20 am
In honor of Father’s Day, the newspaper invited readers to submit short essays about the things they are glad their dads passed along. Here are some of them:
My dad, Norm Couthran, taught me the life lesson that I can accomplish anything I set my mind to.
I followed in his footsteps and entered the law enforcement field. Looking back, that was pretty easy. Life had a big curveball ready to be thrown my direction. In 1998, I was diagnosed with a brain tumor.
With my dad’s unwavering support (and here’s a shoutout to my mom, too), I knew I would make it through, despite the sometimes dismal odds given me by my doctors. In 2007, my neurosurgeon told me my brain tumor had grown so large that it was now inoperable. I learned radiation would cause too much swelling and nerve damage, and could be fatal.
It was my dad who researched and found Proton Beam Radiation, which was a precision-type radiation with a Bragg Peak that would not damage the nerves around my brain tumor.
With my dad unwilling to give up on me, how could I give up on myself? He had already instilled in me that I could accomplish anything.
My mom and I traveled to California … where I underwent six weeks of radiation. It worked! My brain tumor has stopped growing! There are three other kids who are proud to call Norm Couthran “Dad”: my siblings Dana, Bill and Mike share this honor with me. Yes, we have the best dad in the whole wide world! Happy Father’s Day, Dad. My dad is a retired Methodist minister and professor of sociology/academic dean from the University of Puget Sound. He is the hardest-working, most humble man I will ever know, modeling the greatest integrity and value for all of life. At summer camp in 1969, he wrote me a letter that I still carry in my Bible. It contained this timeless, invaluable lesson for life:
“The challenge is to live a good, humane, productive life in a world which seems to fail to honor human dignity and value. Don’t sell humanness short for this is where the real person is. In our age, it is easy to confuse the glitter and gadgets of living with the real value of people. I envy you your opportunity to be part of recreating man in his highest image. It won’t be easy, but you can create the self which brings out the best of human qualities. Too much of life is spent on trivia and profaning life instead of honoring it. Find the balance of individuality that is neither stuffy formalism nor herd conformity. Then you can create the real you and make your contribution to humane relations. Camp can help set some perspectives, but bring that same spirit home in the world where you live and we will all be richer for it. This is what it means to grow up and these are exciting times. I’m happy to be able to share some of them with you. Love, Dad.” In the late 1940s, it was cool to smoke and it was then that I remember sitting on the front steps with my dad while he smoked a cigar. I was thinking that if he liked it, I would too, so after considerable begging, he let me take a puff.
I was only 5 years old but that memory is etched in my memory and never have I had the slightest inclination to smoke again. After having lost a dear friend to lung cancer, I will always be thankful for that wretched experience. The best life lesson my dad taught me was the true definition of “manhood” – what being a real man is all about.
More by the way he lived than what he said, he taught me that real men honor their commitments (family, work, church, etc.). Growing up, I saw my dad as a stable provider for our family and he made sure we were always taken care of. My mother, before dying of cancer late last year, had been sick for three years. He took care of her as best he could right up until the end. He taught me that real men stay true to their convictions and character even when it hurts. There were plenty of times when I saw him “do the right thing” in situations when he may have wanted to do the opposite.
Finally, he taught me that real men don’t allow the past to dictate the future. My dad had a tough childhood and basically grew up without a father. He hung in there with our family even when things were tough. He proved that bad cycles can be broken and history doesn’t have to repeat itself. He’s a good father and a good man. I hope and pray that by heeding the life lessons he taught, the same will be said of me. Dad was not a natural-born teacher like our mother. Rather, he lived a life of kindness to others while we five kids watched and followed his example.
Dad always had a soft spot for the underdog. He was abandoned by his parents when he was 6, and he and his little brother were taken in by relatives, but Dad said he always knew he was a burden and one step away from the orphanage.
Dad owned a variety store for many years and always looked out for the kids who did not have much. The kids who lacked money for comic books were allowed to sit in his office and read the past editions of their favorite super heroes. Families who could not afford school supplies could count on Dad to help them out and he donated items to every fundraiser. Dad took elderly people who no longer drove to Mass every Sunday starting in 1958 when we got our first car. Those little acts of kindness were life lessons for us children.
In his later years, Dad volunteered two days each week at the Spokane Valley Food Bank. He retired at 87 when his legs “got tired.” Dad passed away last June at the age of 90 and this will be my first Father’s Day without him. I was proud to call him Dad. I never had a “real” dad until I was 11 years old. Eddie Aylesworth was my stepfather, but to me he was the best dad in the world. He taught me many things, but one of the most important ones was how he always – even when he was very sick – made the world a happy place.
He was always smiling and joking, trying to keep everyone happy, even when he was in pain. Dad had quite a few serious health problems – life-threatening problems and very painful. At the end of his life, he had a massive heart attack and lived for three months, seriously ill. Every day he joked and laughed like nothing was wrong. I called him my “jolly little elf” – he was 5-foot-6, full of pure courage.
Now that I am older and have many health problems, and I’m often in pain, I keep a happy attitude and try not to complain. I have a friend who says “you can’t be sick, you look to good.” I miss Dad very much, but I know he would smile and tell me to keep smiling. It was always about his heart, even at the end of his life. He confounded the nurses.
“He’s not following the typical pattern,” they said. “His heart is so strong, his hands and feet are so warm. We don’t really understand why he’s still with us.”
I knew – it was all about his heart.
During the last four days of his life, he took the time to love all of us again and again. I gave him permission to go to heaven, and he shook his head with a big smile on his face. “So you’re going to milk this for all it’s worth?” my sister asked him. He nodded his head up and down, with a big grin on his face. “All right then,” I said and laughed.
He loved us so much he took lots of time to prepare us for his departure. He even shared heaven with us. He was glowing, beaming, and filled with joy. “Do you see heaven?” I asked him. He nodded. “Is heaven beautiful?” I asked him. He nodded vigorously and smiled radiantly. Pointing at a faraway place in the corner of the ceiling, he said to me, “I’m going to go there for a while, and then I’ll be back.” I said, “I’ll be ready for you, daddy.”
At one point I was dressed in many layers, ready to walk his dog in the freezing weather. I went into his room to give him a kiss. He grabbed my scarf on both sides and pulled me to his chest. He held me, kissed me, stroked my hair, pressed his cheek against mine and patted me on my back, pulled away and said with his eyes, “I love you.” He was so strong. There was never any doubt that he loved us with all his heart. We stayed that way for 15 minutes. By then all my layers were off, he was so warm. I was glad he was finally warm. No more gloves for him.
I had felt sad and anxious in the first few days of this journey. Then he changed that for me. Early Monday evening when we were together, I was suddenly filled with happiness. He never could stand to see me or anyone he loved feel sad. That happiness has stayed with me ever since. Even though I have tears, I am still full of joy for him. He got what he wanted.
The nurses said it was the best death process they had ever witnessed. For the last 30 minutes of his life I lay with him and held him, watching his deep breathing, in and out. When his last breath came, he shared it with me, which was what I had silently hoped for. And in that last moment, it was still all about his heart. My dad has taught me many life lessons – integrity, strong work ethic, and not lying, just to name a few. His lessons are not so much in his words but in his actions. Too much change back at the store? Be honest – give it back! If you do something silly, you may get into trouble; lie about it and it’s double trouble!
Like his father, my dad is also a creative problem-solver (I would like to think I have this skill also), able to see the problem and fix it in a way that the rest of the family never even thought of doing! My dad has never been a stranger to a hard day’s work. If you say you will do something, do it! My father has proven to me time and again that he is a man of honor with a large laugh, appetite and heart, and I hope I can be half the person he is! My dad, Enar, was born in Mora, Sweden, in 1920. He taught me that with love, humor and tolerance, your life will be like a dance. (“Med karlek, humor och tolerans, gar hela livet som en dans”). He also taught me to try to make someone happy every day – even if it’s only yourself. (“Forsok att gora nagon glad varje dag, om det sa bara ar dig sjalv.”) The best life lesson my father taught me and my sisters and brothers is “to love and accept people for who and what they are, not what you want them to be.” He did this by example. Mom died when she was 34 and Dad was left with six young children. Everyone told him he couldn’t raise six kids by himself and work. He promised Mom he would keep us all together and he did. He put his life on hold until we were all raised and out of the house.
He was a believer in the power of positive thinking before it was popular, and always told us we were capable of doing anything we wanted. As we were growing up, we didn’t always necessarily make the best decisions, but we always knew he was there with love and support.
He raised six independent and responsible children. None of us was perfect, but we all knew he loved us and accepted us just as we were, perfect or not. He also made sure we didn’t pass judgment on anyone else. If we saw someone down on their luck, he always reminded us that we didn’t know what their circumstances were or what was going on in their life. To this day, we’re a very close family and there is no one we respect or love more than our Dad. I remember my father telling me 25 years ago when I was a mother with small children at home, “Remember these are the good old days!”
My dad was Richard Marcoe and he has been gone for 10 years now. He used to relish the small things in life and I feel blessed to have that handed down to me. My dad, Norm Johnson, taught me many life lessons as I was growing up. He emphasized the importance of honesty, integrity, hard work, responsibility, self-reliance, family dedication and character. Perhaps the life lesson that stands out the most, however, is how to have fun and not take ourselves too seriously.
Dad was always ready with fireworks on the Fourth of July, always coached our ball teams, and never missed an opportunity to take us fishing. Back in the day in which most Halloween pranks were considered harmless fun, he showed my brothers and me the best technique for throwing water balloons at cars. On another night, taking our little league team to a Tacoma baseball game, Dad encouraged us to shoot frozen peas out the window with plastic spoons at cars we were passing on the freeway.
And how many dads would buy an old beater car just so their 13-year-old could drive it in the vacant field across the street?
Dad always said that he wanted to be a different dad than his father had been. His own father never attended a single game as he grew up, but my dad never missed any of my high school or college games if he had any possible way of getting there. He was successful in changing that legacy and showing his sons what a good father should be.
I love you, Dad, and am both proud and thankful you are my dad. If I can leave the same legacy as a father that you did, I will consider my life to have been successful. And, you are right, we’re never too old to laugh, have fun and be a kid again. While my father taught me a number of life’s lessons, the one that stands out and one I still do every day is this.
My father used to always whistle or sing or hum. I can’t remember ever seeing him really mad. One day I asked him, ‘Dad, why do you always whistle or sing?’ He told me, “You can’t be mad or upset and do either one of those. Life is much easier when you are in a good mood.”
I always remembered that and as I got into the working world and worked in the human resources field, I found myself following my dad’s advice. Over the years I passed this advice on to many employees that I worked with. Employees were always saying, “I knew you were coming before I could see you,” and, “How in the world can you be so happy?” I would just smile and share my father’s few words of wisdom, and challenge them to try it.
Thank you, Dad. My dad taught me that real men are honest, principled, loyal, loving and a little mischievous. He is a thief of air mattresses at 2 a.m. during a backpacking trip to Tomyhoi Lake, a sprayer of unwanted and unexpected water while car-washing, and a pest to his little sister, even though he is now 80 and she is in her 70s.
He is also the man who drove around during a Lynden winter, searching for his runaway son who had been caught in a lie and fled. He introduced me to fishing and the mountain lakes of Whatcom County and British Columbia. And he demonstrated – in word and deed – his bone-deep belief in God. My dad (William Yatman) was accidentally blinded by gunshot at age 9. He was given appropriate time to recover and acclimate to his familiar surroundings with use of a guide dog.
My grandparents did not treat my dad differently nor treat this handicap as a means to prevent him from achievement. My dad became a teacher and met my mother (also blind) at the school where they taught. My dad designed and built the home where my sister and myself were raised in New Jersey. My mom died when I was 10 years of age, leaving my dad a single parent.
My dad taught me much during his 85 years of life; however, the best of those lessons was whatever challenge you are given in life, it’s your decision as to how you are going to cope. My dad’s life has been an inspiration to me, for whenever I feel I have a challenge, I reflect upon his life and what he did to overcome darkness and live in the light. Among the multitude of life lessons my dad, Reed Jones, taught his brood (four of whom were daughters) was self-sufficiency. It was paramount to him that, regardless of what life and relationships brought, each of his kids should be prepared to hold a career sufficient to earn a supporting wage. We all have.
In that same vein, his job required several transfers around the Northwest, and each time we relocated, we’d first move into a rental house while he and mom designed and built a home to fit their budget yet meet their family’s needs. With their own resident labor force – they had no gender bias! – we learned skills that have served us well in the years since – as all of us can nail together 2-by-4 walls; install drywall, shingles, tile, and hardwood floors; paint like pros, and more. And lest we forget, before the grass seed can be sown, the ground had to be properly prepared. We became adept at raking – and raking and raking and raking – rocks.
He loved guiding his “kids,” all of whom are now grandparents, so much that even in the week before his passing last year at age 87 he was offering sage words of advice. He was a man among men.
From The News Tribune published on 06/20/10 1:20 am
