I got this from our principal this morning. I couldn't help but think of my father (who was a truck driver and the most giving man I ever knew). I never heard my father say a mean spirited word about anyone. Sure, he didn't like everyone, but he never went out of his way to gossip about them. And when he did hear gossip about them, he always said that it was hard to believe (no matter who or what the gossip was about).
He also always went out of his way to help others. I can't possibly begin to count all of the people he helped who pulled into our farmyard with car trouble. Since we lived pretty much on the junction of highway 32 and 2, people seemed to stop in every month or so. I remember one man who stopped by for water. Dad had his Hartz truck in the yard and was getting ready to leave. But he invited them man in and they began talking (I ran upstairs to read and write and crank my stereo). When I came down after an hour, my parents told me about the man. He was walking from somewhere up north to the convent near Crookston, where he hoped to work and help out around the place as he was trying to turn his life around. He had stopped by to get some water and rest. So Dad visited with him and Mom made him some sandwiches for the walk down highway two.
Then Dad - who had to be leaving soon - said, "would you want to take the truck and go find him and give him a ride to Crookston?"
Even as enticing as the thought of having our pick up to myself was, there was no way I was going to spend 20 minutes alone with some complete stranger.
Dad understood, but I think he always felt bad that he wasn't able to give that guy a ride to Crookston, especially as it seemed like he was turning his life around.
And for as great as he treated others, he treated his family even better!
I recall the first time we baled hay on our farm. Mom drove the tractor while I dragged the bales back to Dad who then stacked them.
We had just finished our first full trailer. I was covered in alfalfa leaves from head to toe. They were down the back of my shirt and inching like crazy.
As soon as we were done, I ran behind the trailer to take my shirt off and shake the leaves out.
Well, I didn't realize that we were in the middle of a row and Mom was still driving down it. Dad didn't want to stop and needed my help to hook up another wagon.
When he didn't see me next to him ready to help him hook up another trailer, he was angry. He found me behind the trailer and yelled and grabbed me.
I had never seen Dad act like this and I was angry and muttering curses at him under my breath. I was used to Mom taking my side, but she was oblivious up on the tractor.
As we began filling up the other trailer, Dad apologized. He knew how hurt I was - I honestly wasn't trying to slack off (that would come later, though!). I just was terribly uncomfortable and thought we'd be taking a little break.
We forgave each other, and I never really thought about it again.
But that moment always bothered Dad, and he continued to talk about it and apologize for it over the years. I think he always felt bad for losing his temper.
Can you imagine? How often do we lose our tempers in any given day. But in a lifetime?
And for most people that wouldn't even be an issue! I can count on one hand the times I saw him lose his temper. I can count on one finger the times I heard him swear. That made for a very peaceful family. That was about the meanest thing we'd ever done to each other. And it always bothered my father.
Why he rarely said the words "I love you," (he would say "God bless and love ya" to Mom and me when he was leaving to go out in the truck), there was never a moment of my life that he didn't show me his love. And he certainly showed it to me in his lament over that little argument we had all those years ago.
That was just the kind of peaceful and easy going man he was.
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