Memory Monday

My Parents taught me to work. Every morning before school we would wake up early and do our housework or "Chores" so that when we came home from school we could run the hills, or do whatever else we thought we needed to.

My Dad always found us jobs to do as a family.  One summer we cut trees to make "Latias" I am sure that is not how you spell it.  Basically they were the logs used for staircase railings.

I don't remember exactly why, I think it might have been because of fire restrictions that summer but we had to get up and be in the woods just as soon as it got light, which was EXTREMELY early during the summer.  I am sure that it wasn't fun for my Mom and Dad to drag our lazy bums out of bed every morning so we could go cut logs, but they kept doing it.  I think most of the kids slept on the way out to the woods, but we always sang (or slept again) on the way home.  I also remember Dad would always bring us Oatmeal Cream Pies, and I always looked forward to the break from the saws when we could enjoy them.  We each had a particular job to do while we were out there.  My job was to measure and mark the trees.  My Dad or brother would go through and cut the trees down, and then me and my little sister would measure a certain length on the tree and then mark it with a funny crayon so that Dad could come back and cut the tree to the right length shortly after.  The little kids (I was kind of one of those) would have a few minutes to play before Dad had enough trees cut and we were out of the way just enough so we didn't have to worry about a tree falling on us, and then we were hard at work.  We had some great forts that we created out in those forests. After we had whatever we were going to for the day we would all go to work loading the logs up into the trailer.  I always hated this because that is when I would get dirty and covered in pine gum, but it had to be done.

We would bring the logs home where Dad and a few of my uncles had set up an operation to peel the logs.  All of the bark had to come off.  So my older siblings, Dad & Mom would go to work. I used the excuse that I was to little to hold up the peeler a heavy piece of steel that my Uncle Randle had made for us to make the job easier, and I was to short to really see the top of the log when it was on the stands used to hold it up for the peeling. This usually meant that us little brats (Sorry girls) had to make sure we cleaned the house.  At the time it seemed torturous, but now it is a precious memory.  Now I really love that summer. I wish we could do it again.  ( I would probably eat the words of that last sentence if I was doing it again wouldn't I)

I LOVE LOVE LOVE that parents taught me and my siblings the value of hard work and determination.  The great thing was that they didn't do it by what they said necessarily, but just how they lived.  I hope that I can be known hard workers like they are, and that I can someday teach that to my children.

This week I was looking for things to put on my Dad's headstone, and I found this.  It made me smile.

What is a Father

(Paul Harvey)

A father is a thing that is forced to endure childbirth, without an anesthetic.

A father is a thing that growls when it feels good–and laughs loud when it’s scared half to death.

A father never feels entirely worthy of worship in his child’s eyes. He never is quite the hero his daughter thinks, never quite the man his son believes him to be. This worries him, sometimes, so he works too hard to try and smooth the rough places in the road for those of his own who will follow him.

A father is a thing that gets very angry when school grades aren’t as good as he thinks they should be. He scolds his son although he knows it’s the teacher’s fault.

Fathers grow old faster than other people.

And while mothers can cry where it shows, fathers stand there and beam outside–and die inside. Fathers have very stout hearts, so they have to be broken sometimes or no one would know what is inside. Fathers give daughters away to other men who aren’t nearly good enough so they can have grandchildren who are smarter than anybody’s. Fathers fight dragons almost daily. They hurry away from the breakfast table, off to the arena which is sometimes called an office or a workshop…where they tackle the dragon with three heads: Weariness, Work and Monotony.

Knights in shining armor.

Fathers make bets with insurance companies about who will live the longest. Though they know the odds, they keep right on betting. Even as the odds get higher and higher, they keep right on betting more and more.

And one day they lose.

But fathers enjoy an earthly immortality and the bet is paid off to the part of him he leaves behind.

I don’t know where fathers go when they die. But I have an idea that after a good rest, he won’t be happy unless there is work to do. He won’t just sit on a cloud and wait for the girl he’s loved and the children she bore. He’ll be busy there, too…oiling the gates, smoothing the way.

(Paul Harvey)