My Daddy was a Hero

Have you ever thought about the people in your life who influenced you and helped to make you who you eventually became? We cross paths with many people in a lifetime and each one and each experience adds to who we are, but some, of course, are much more important than others. For the majority of us our parents would certainly be at the top of our list. For me that is certainly true. I know there were many times I should have told them just how special they were and failed to do it. Sometimes I know I hurt them and now it hurts me to think of those times. They are the ones who loved me and put up with me through good times and bad times. They stood up for me and protected me. They were the people that nurtured me and gave me the morals that I live by.
I want to tell a little about some of these people. I hope that by writing this it will give you a small sense of knowing them and what kind of people they were. I write to honor them and remember them. I write even though they are no longer here. It is only a small and belated way to say thank-you, perhaps, but maybe it will help remind us all that we can and should show our appreciation to the people we love, now, before they are gone and there is no more time to tell them "thanks for being there".
I remember when I was very small I would stand on tiptoes behind the chair my daddy sat in and comb his hair. It was thick and very black and wavy and he would patiently let me comb. "My daddy was my hero".
When he would bring the cows in from the field he would let me ride on the back of "Babe" our gentle milk cow. He would swing me up on her back and lead her with the rope around her neck.
He put a swing in the tree out back and another one in the old outbuilding that Mom used to do laundry. I know it wasn't just for me, but, I can still remember him pushing me and feeling like I could reach the clouds. I can close my eyes and feel that sense of exhilaration as I flew high into the blue sky!
Another time, (I was probably in 1st grade) my daddy cooked fried chicken in the basement kitchen of the little country school we attended. It was for an evening meal and meeting with the families and teachers that went there. I can remember looking through the window (from the playground) and watching him put the chicken pieces into a brown paper bag with flour in it. Then he would shake it all up before he put it into the hot grease to fry it. I was so proud it was "my daddy" that was such a good cook!
When our big red barn burned down the wind was blowing hard toward our house and I was afraid. My daddy put his arm around me and said not to worry it would be OK. I was crying and he took the time to "save" my baby doll for me, {even though he and my mom were very busy putting our clothing and other things into the car, apparently there must have been a real concern that the house might catch on fire also}. We younger children were taken to stay with a family down the road. I will never forget watching the flames and smoke from that kind neighbors house and wondering if Daddy and Momma and my older brother and sisters were alright.
One time the bull in the small pasture was snorting and kicking his feet, acting like he was going to hurt us and what did "my daddy" do? He took the hammer he had been using and threw it, hitting that old bull smack on the head. Guess he taught him a lesson or two!
Of course, he wasn't just "my hero". I have a bunch of brothers and sisters and we would all like to think of him as exclusively "our hero". I guess it was and will always be "Yours, mine and ours". Really I don't mind sharing his memory one bit.
That is another thing about him. It never seemed to matter how many of us he had. He made every one of us feel we were special.
He was tender-hearted and kind to others.
Daddy was the youngest of 6 children.(Grandpa's 1st family). Sadly his mother contracted Tuberculosis and died when he was very young. After that my Grandpa remarried {I don't know exactly how long after her death) and he and his second wife (who already had two little girls) eventually had 8 more children. Unfortunately, Grandpa and my second Grandma Nellie (I always wondered if he choose to marry her partly because of her name) were overwhelmed with a family of 18 and it was, I'm sure, an extremely hard life. Somehow, at some point, I think Daddy kind of became the caretaker for many in his family. Many times one or another would call him when they had trouble. It made him so sad that he was not always able to help them. He would listen and tried to help, in some way, if he could.
Depression was an issue he dealt as it has been with many in our family. Sometimes, wheather we like it or not, out genetic makeup can get in the way and cause challenges we would rather not deal with.
When I was older I found out that he had been in "World War II". Even though Mom, already at that time, had two little ones to care for and was expecting their third child, when the war broke out, he felt an obligation to his family and country and joined the Army. (I'm not at all sure that Mom felt the same way about his duty to his family and country!). At any rate, he was first sent to Camp Perry in Ohio for "boot camp" and then shipped out to France. It was a very tough time for him. When I was a teenager he was in and out of the Veteran's hospital a couple of times and was always haunted by memories of the terrible things that happened during those years away from the ones he loved so much. His soft heart and family depression would have made it that much harder.
Years later as his health continued to decline he was given a medical retirement from the Post Office. He was 50 years old.(I believe that is right, anyway). My twin brother and I were 13, and we have a brother who was 14 and also a brother that was only 11 at the time. Also, some of our older siblings stayed with us part of the time while their families were starting out.
His life was not an easy one, but no matter the hard times got, we were always loved and protected!
There were also many good times and much laughter. He loved hunting and fishing. He took us camping even though we never had a tent. We would sleep under a tarp or in the seats of the big ol "Nash" that had seats that would lay back and make a bed. Sometimes we would just wrap ourselves in blankets and sleep on the ground. I remember him and my mom sitting on the misty river bank (I can remember the smell the mist and still hear the whip-o-will calling)and talking late into the night, as we little ones were going to sleep. He would whistle and sing songs of lovers and tragic train wrecks. I still love the smell of fresh coffee because I associate it with my Daddy.
It was a wonderful life for a little girl to have. Lots of brothers and sisters and parent's that loved us unconditionally.
Of course, as I grew up, I began to realize, that in reality, it wasn't perfect. But, still, we were always given what, to us as children, was most important, and that, of course, is always love.
Daddy was and always will be "My Hero!" It was all those tough times that, I think, showed his character the most. He was a person that no matter how hard it got he just "KEPT ON KEEPING ON"!
I will always keep those memories in my heart.
I so value those weeks, after his heart attack, when I was able to spend time with him. Though he was in the hospital he was still looking forward to whatever lie ahead.
I miss him and always will. I am forever grateful that He was "one of my very special people, "My Hero".