He was a Doctor, Outdoorsman, Cowboy, and Rancher, but I Called Him Dad

From January 8

At the time of a loved one’s death we are left with memories. We might have photographs, letters, and in this age, digital recordings of our loved one. The most personal possessions we have, though, are the memories we carry. Memories are not small things. They are not like the vapors rising from some cold spring that fade away with the heat of the sun. Memories, instead, are priceless treasures that are meant be shared, linking us to the one who has passed and to each other.

I know that Dad loved me. I benefitted from his love and guidance starting as a young child and continuing throughout my life. And although many will remember Dad as strong and tough cowboy or as a dedicated and tireless doctor, I will remember and will choose to cherish my memories of him as a tender father who both cared for me and taught me many lessons that I still use today.

One such lesson was this: the expression of love for one’s children is important. To that end, Dad would hug me as a young boy, sweeping me off the ground in his strong arms. Then he would deliberately scratch me with his prickly whiskers. This ritual was always followed by wet kisses that he would slather on my face, and, as I judged them to be, were entirely too wet. Dangling helplessly in the air, I had no recourse but to protest loudly. Yet I would giggle as I ran off once I was released. Through the years the hugs never ceased, though he was no longer able to lift me as he had done so frequently when I was a small child. Even in middle school when I would extend a hand to him, with the intent of clearly limiting his affection to a handshake, Dad would pull me in for a bear hug, kisses and all.

To my own children’s dismay, this tradition continues in our home—though my hugs are not nearly as scratchy as Dad’s had been. I do make every effort to give them hugs daily and, of course, apply liberal amounts of kisses.

My dad’s love for me was clear to me through his words, as he would tell me that he loved me, and through his ongoing support, guidance, and the discipline that he would impose on me when I needed correction. I especially appreciated going on the many fishing trips that he would take us on. These trips enriched my life and were a welcome change from growing up on a ranch. Being one of six children, with a hard-working father who was both a full-time doctor and a rancher, I found that getting time alone with Dad was more rare than a young boy like me would have liked it to have been. During the hikes and camping experiences that surrounded these fishing trips Dad cultivated a love for nature and science in us. I remember being delighted to find that Dad was able to answer most any question I had about nature and animals. And over the years I would still come to him for more of that knowledge, focusing the questions on more advanced topics around chemistry, anatomy, physiology, medicine, and genetics. I still fondly recall Dad’s habit of using a napkin during meals together and jotting notes on it to illustrate the points he was making. Ever the teacher, he shaped me in this way too.

And being a doctor, he was able to directly care for injuries and illnesses that I got growing up. (One time he used a pocketknife to help an aching and stubborn tooth of mine emerge from my gums!) I was also comforted as a young parent when I was able to call Dad late at night to seek help for our baby’s racking cough, or for another’s inflamed rash. I can’t convey the comfort Dad brought to Jami and I when we were not able to see a doctor until the next day. Having his support and expertise at those moments is something I know we will greatly miss, and, truly, is a perfect picture of what being a father meant to me. His love was demonstrated time he spent tenderly and expertly assisting us through the trials we faced.

My dad was not a perfect man. He made decisions that shattered our family and made me, as a boy just eight years old, come to doubt his love for me and my family. There are also many ways that I have deliberately departed from the example that Dad provided to my brothers and I as a father and husband. Though many of these decisions Dad had come to regret, as he expressed to me years later in his own way, he was nonetheless able to continue to demonstrate his love and support me as a young man and through the years. With time, I found that I have chosen to not dwell on the mistakes that Dad made. Instead, through being purposeful in my forgiveness of him, I focused on Dad’s admirable traits and allowed myself to be shaped by his tenderness, wise council, and work ethic.

There is much more that I could write, with many insightful and humorous anecdotes describing the odd and distinct ways that he did things on the ranch and on trips. Dad, for instance, had a unique and incredibly embarrassing way of gathering us together from a shopping trip. (Be sure to ask any of my siblings, should you like to know.) And what family do you know had the opportunity to participate in an actual cattle drive, and through our own neighborhood to boot!

I have become who I am, in part, through Dad’s influence on my life. And in the years ahead I know I will yearn to be with him again, to sit and get his take on something, to share a cherished memory, or to hear him recall one of his many stories. For now I will content myself by sharing memories of him with the friends and families who knew him best. I, for one, look forward to being enriched by you as you share the memories you have of Dad with me.

May the memories of Dad we have not melt away like a passing vapor. Instead, may they be the links of a powerful chain that bind us together, joining our thoughts and hearts through time.