My Dad Could Do Anything

My dad was a hero.  I'm not making this up; he'd tell anyone that he was a hero.  

Oh, not a war hero, although he served in the Navy during the Second World War. He worked in the ships metal shop, making what he told people was a Blip. They wondered what he was doing, but perhaps thought it was a special assignment so never asked what it actually was, this Blip. One day his commanding officer insisted he show him this Blip. So, Dad took it to the side of the ship and suspended it over the water.  They all watched in anticipation. Then he dropped it.... It went "blip" and sank to the bottom of the sea.

Well, that's the story we heard.

His ship only left the dock once during his tour of duty. It went out to sea and then turned around to returned to the dock. On his service record, it states he went to sea; therefore, his severance pay reflected this fact. 

He wanted to continue working in a machine shop but realized it would not pay the same as some other profession. His first daughter was born in 1948 and he needed to support his family. Instead he became an electrician. 

He worked for Waltersheid Electric in San Dimas, California and became an asked-for electrician for repairs and builds. He spent enough time at LeRoy's Boy's Home in LaVerne to get to know some of the kids.  It was the same at the David and Margaret Children's Home, also in LaVerne.  His longest gig was serving Vita Pakt Citrus Company. He liked working there for Waltersheid because it meant no traveling around and it was close. Plus he could stop and see his mom on his way home. He told us he knew how to stay looking busy so they would keep him on: when a boss came near, he always pulled out his little notebook, looking through it as if he was looking at his list of chores and problem spots. I've tried this but I always goof-up and give the boss eye contact...blows my cover.

Boating became a great family outing.  Salton Sea was one spot we visited.  It wasn't far, so an overnight weekend trip was the destination. The Colorado River was the best. Hotter than hell but the water cooled us down. 

Every summer as teens, we would vacation for two weeks on the Sacramento-San Joaquin Delta. New Hope Landing was our base and every day Mom would pack a lunch, water, and cookies and we would take the boat out on a river beach for the day. Swimming. Skiing. Cruising the waters. We went with other families who were members of the Mt. Baldy Boat Club. All day, boats towing skiers came in and out from the beach.

The Hero Was Born

New Hope Landing--our vacation paradise

It was there on the beach of the San Joaquin River that Dad's hero cry, "I'll save you!" began and Dad became The Hero. If a boat was coming in, he would jump splash into the water and get the kids out of the way. If some of the women were splashing around, whether or not a boat was incoming, he'd jump in with The Hero's cry!  I'll Save You! splash splash

Dad had a favorite skiing event. He would ride, not every day of the vacation, but enough to keep it exciting... With his zinc-oxide-white nose, he would grab his home-made ski disc and his wooden chair and get out on the water.  As the boat towed him, he would, chair slung over his arm, stand up, set down on the chair.  Sometimes he would stay there for most the ride. But the real excitement was when he stood up on the chair, stretching out one arm, and yelling that he was The Hero. And then he would turn circles on the chair on the disc.

My dad built the house where we grew up. He could fix cars. He could fix toys. He could make electrical things work. He could blow air in your bike tires with his air compressor.  He could find a bargain at the Scrap Meet--and his back yard showed this feat. He built a screened fence around his goodies so we couldn't call it a junk yard. And then, if you needed anything fixed, he could fix it! His love for metal shop work never left and he built a good sized metal shop in the back of the garage. That's where he would be after dinner. 

Neighboring kids would come over and watch him work, whether they wanted him to fix something or not. I had a few high school friends who knew him better than they knew me. He and my sister fought the city of Montclair in order to remain county.  They won the first fight.

My dad was a clever funny smart man who was similar to Will Rogers in that he never met a man he didn't like. And people loved him. He enjoyed playing with his little grandkids (he called it "hop on pop" time) and loved his older grandsons. My kids and I last saw him when he insisted he come to Oregon to see my younger son's 1990 high school graduation, even though he wasn't feeling well enough to drive. He died a month and days later.

My dad was truly a hero.
peace~~~

We Never Knew We Had It So Good

Across the road to Mr. Cooper's farm

I grew up in a rural area. Our house, along with half a dozen other houses, sat on a dead-end dirt road. There were two large open fields along the road—Mr. Cooper’s farm with acreage that was leased out—probably by a company—for crops, and the huge field on the other side of Granny’s house. And then the dairy pasture that went all the way to the orange grove that ran along the next-over road. Across the pasture was an old house, big and mighty like maybe Victorian, that had a row of eucalyptus trees standing sentinel.

We always had plenty of food and clothing; we weren’t poor but a comfortable middle-class family. Mom made our dresses, cooked our meals, and made sure we were clean and presentable. Dad wasn’t a miser but we weren't to spend money foolishly. If we were able to eat dinner out—a rare treat—my sister and I could each spend a dollar. That meant we could get a burger and fries or a burger and a drink. My sister would search then whole menu, every time, and every time, would select a Patty Melt. It is still a family tradition :)

View from the bedroom window

We each got a bike when we turned ten years old. We’d take all-day bike-hikes out and about. At about sixteen, Dad rebuilt a car for each of us. We went camping and boating as a family. Water skiing, swimming, playing. We played hide-and-seek after dark every summer with Gary and Donnie, who visited their grandparents every year. Our lives weren’t exactly the same as our city classmates who had lots of playmates moving from yard-to-yard, but we had a good one, lacking nothing.

When my children were three and five, their father and I divorced. Compared to my growing up years, we were poor. At first I used welfare and food stamps to survive. I always made sure my sons had clean clothes and brushed hair, new shoes as needed, and toys.  While their hair may have needed cutting, it never needed washing.  If their clothes were sometimes hand-me-downs, my kids were always kept  warm. My sons received free breakfast and lunch at school; our family received government cheese. 

I was proud of what we had and how we took care of one another. One Christmas when the boys were maybe five or six and seven we had almost nothing.  I asked the kindergarten teacher at their school if I could have a few pieces of construction paper so I could make a tree. We cut out pictures and taped them to the tree to decorate. I whispered to each boy to quietly go into their toy box and pick out something of theirs to give to brother. We wrapped them with a bit of paper and put them under the tree. And then we baked some cookies for a holiday treat. We made do, we always made do, hopefully bringing some laughter along the way.

I worked many hours a week at multiple part time jobs. Clerk at the convince store across the street. Aide to an elderly woman down the street. Sweeping the parking lot at the store. Collecting newspapers and getting pennies for a pound. I started college and worked part time at the public school special education department while working at the store. I worked part time at the college. I became the assistant for a man who was disabled.

As years passed, I looked back to these times as that my sons and I accomplished a great deal within a loving household. I believed we did okay, we did just fine. But this wasn’t their perception of their growing up years. They told me they had always felt different than their friends, who had better clothes, better shoes, better toys. I wasn’t home because of work and school; they had needed me with them more. And while I had thought quality time would make up for quantity, they just wanted more of me even if we were in separate rooms not communicating.

Recently I was reading people’s stories about growing up poor. I realized, while some of their truths were my sons’ truths, we had it okay. One homeless child said Walmart was open all the time and was a great place to get some warmth and to get away from the riff-raff. One young woman said she would skip a meal by simply going to sleep. These stories and other stories are harsh and sad, reality.

It saddened me that my sons had a rough time growing up poor and I never knew. It saddened me to find they didn’t ask to play community sports like Little League because they knew I would try to find a way to buy them the shoes and equipment needed, probably by finding another job. It broke my heart to learn that those things didn’t matter in the face of simply wanting me home more with them.

Kids with their Gramma

My sons were good kids who were watched over by the neighbors, watched over by the neighborhood, by me. They were loved and cared for and learned to be loving and caring men. And we were poor...but seeing how those who were truly poor lived out their lives, who had little or no support, how they had to struggle...well, we really never knew we had it so good.

peace~~~