(Me and Pops on the porch after church - 1976) Can you do a shout out for someone who's passed away? I don't know. Anyway, I felt like I wanted to do a little tribute about my dad.
Thanksgiving day was my dad's birthday. He would have been 88 years old. When I was born, Pops (my name for him) was 52 years old. I never knew him with other than gray hair, and definitely never with a full head of hair (although, I'm not sure many of us kids did -- he lost his hair pretty early!) He was a great, hard working, middle class American dad. He worked his fingers to the bone to support his wife that he adored and his ten children in Los Angeles, California. (I mention that because I know now that there were other places where the cost of living would have been easier to manage.)
Pops was in the US Navy. He served on a carrier ship. He had told me that he was stationed in Hawaii for a time, and I guess I assumed he was there during Pearl Harbor. Don't know why I never asked for more detail, but it wasn't until his eulogy was read that I learned he joined the Navy after December 7, 1941. He was still a hero in my book.
Some of my favorite things about Pops: Teaching me to drive. I learned in his Pea Green colored Dodge Dart (not sure of the year). Pops would only own an American made car (I'm pretty sure, Dodge was his brand of choice.) First he taught me to drive in the church parking lot, and one day I guess I was good enough, so he let me out the back of the lot onto the residential streets behind the church. We quickly went back to the parking lot when I couldn't stay on the right side of the road. Maybe I thought I was British. Anyway, when I was finally able to stay in the lines and get on the street, he taught me to glance at the cross walk signs to gauge when the light was going to turn yellow or red so as to not have to slam on the brakes. I still look at those signs today and think of him when I do.
Once in a while on a Sunday afternoon, Pops would come home from his meetings at church and holler "Who wants a frosty?" We'd all come running and pile into the car and he'd take us to get an ice cream cone then go sit somewhere and visit. Many times he'd take us to Rose Hills Cemetery (I, know, it sounds creepy, but it is a beautiful place with rolling hills and beautiful gardens. We used to roll down the hills - careful to miss the place markers). I later learned that he would do this often to get the kids out of the house and give mom a break. What a good guy!
Pops worked fixing semi-truck diesel engines and didn't retire until the age of 72, so that he could send his fifth child (yours truly) on a mission. Of coarse I didn't realize it at the time as much as I should have, but looking back, I am so appreciative of that sacrifice for me. By that time, working in the diesel garage, he had all but completely lost his hearing, and you know he was old and tired, but he went in every day they would have him.
After serving a mission, I lived at home with my parents for a few months. They had both deteriorated much health-wise while I was gone, so as a result, our rolls had reversed for the most part. I was now the driver, care giver, and "slave" as my mom called me. It was fun. They liked to go on long drives and go to Polly's Pies and Jack's Salad Bowl for lunch. The three of us had family home evenings regularly where we discussed the scriptures. We had a lot of good conversations and I am grateful for that short amount of time that I was able to serve them.
Five years after my mom passed away, Pops finally went to meet up with her. I saw him a few times between my mom passing and before he left us. He was suffering from Alzheimer's, so he didn't know me very well -- especially because I only got out to California about once a year or so, but it was worth it. He knows me, and I know it.
Pops was a good, simple man and I am grateful to call him Dad.
Happy Birthday, Pops! I love you.
