(The following was run in the weekly bulletin of the Lake Land congregation on June 15, 2008)
As most of you know by now my father has not been doing well lately, and his health has deteriorated quite rapidly these past few months. This has been quite disheartening to see for he has always been a very healthy man, and one who was always fiercely independent. It has not been an easy task for him to reach out and ask his children for assistance.
I was speaking to my oldest brother about our father this past week. One of the things I envy about my brother is that because he is older he has the privilege of more memories of our parents than I do. Here are but a few of the images he shared with me about our father: Seeing Dad chasing cows through the yard and fields of one of the farms where Dad worked as a hired hand. Stopping on the way to church to help a distressed mother cow give birth to her calf as a car full of his little children watched in fascination. Observing our father maintaining two or three gardens while holding down multiple jobs working 60 – 70 hours a week to keep his seven children fed, and still finding the time to mow grass everywhere each summer, including the large church lawn out in the country miles and miles from town. And who could forget those times he dressed up for Halloween, or he put on the Santa Claus suit at Christmastime, even before anyone had ever even heard of Wal-Mart where he does so each year now?
Hearing my brother relay these thoughts to me I could not help but find myself deep within my own ruminations of our dear father. Here are but a few of the memories I have of our Dad: Seeing him in the beekeeper garb at Grandma Ferguson's house . . . watching him till the garden at our little house just south of Sullivan . . . seeing him throw a ball so high up into the air that it actually disappeared from my sight at the house we lived in while in Bruce . . . pushing all seven of his kids, plus our mother, around the merry-go-round at Wyman Park in Sullivan following the Chiefs men’s fast-pitch softball games summer nights so fast that it was better than any carnival ride I have been on before or since . . . seeing him frying potatoes and onions and hamburgers on his portable green gas stove on our camping trips and times spent summer evenings swimming at the ford north of Bruce before Lake Shelbyville came in . . . camping out overnight each first Saturday in August at Wyman Park and eating from the Kellogg's Variety Pack (what a treat that was for us!) the next morning so that we could have the best pavilion for our annual Ferguson family reunion.
As so many others have done before us, it is now my brothers’ and my sisters’ turn to experience the shock at seeing our own father in a wheel chair and moving about struggling in such pain on crutches. His face may have become haggard and it may be somewhat hallowed as his weight has drastically fallen, but as for me, Dad, you are always going to be the best and strongest man I know. As my oldest brother said, "One thing I am very certain of . . . every one of his kids loves and respects him dearly." So happy Father’s Day, Dad! I love you.
As most of you know by now my father has not been doing well lately, and his health has deteriorated quite rapidly these past few months. This has been quite disheartening to see for he has always been a very healthy man, and one who was always fiercely independent. It has not been an easy task for him to reach out and ask his children for assistance.
I was speaking to my oldest brother about our father this past week. One of the things I envy about my brother is that because he is older he has the privilege of more memories of our parents than I do. Here are but a few of the images he shared with me about our father: Seeing Dad chasing cows through the yard and fields of one of the farms where Dad worked as a hired hand. Stopping on the way to church to help a distressed mother cow give birth to her calf as a car full of his little children watched in fascination. Observing our father maintaining two or three gardens while holding down multiple jobs working 60 – 70 hours a week to keep his seven children fed, and still finding the time to mow grass everywhere each summer, including the large church lawn out in the country miles and miles from town. And who could forget those times he dressed up for Halloween, or he put on the Santa Claus suit at Christmastime, even before anyone had ever even heard of Wal-Mart where he does so each year now?
Hearing my brother relay these thoughts to me I could not help but find myself deep within my own ruminations of our dear father. Here are but a few of the memories I have of our Dad: Seeing him in the beekeeper garb at Grandma Ferguson's house . . . watching him till the garden at our little house just south of Sullivan . . . seeing him throw a ball so high up into the air that it actually disappeared from my sight at the house we lived in while in Bruce . . . pushing all seven of his kids, plus our mother, around the merry-go-round at Wyman Park in Sullivan following the Chiefs men’s fast-pitch softball games summer nights so fast that it was better than any carnival ride I have been on before or since . . . seeing him frying potatoes and onions and hamburgers on his portable green gas stove on our camping trips and times spent summer evenings swimming at the ford north of Bruce before Lake Shelbyville came in . . . camping out overnight each first Saturday in August at Wyman Park and eating from the Kellogg's Variety Pack (what a treat that was for us!) the next morning so that we could have the best pavilion for our annual Ferguson family reunion.
As so many others have done before us, it is now my brothers’ and my sisters’ turn to experience the shock at seeing our own father in a wheel chair and moving about struggling in such pain on crutches. His face may have become haggard and it may be somewhat hallowed as his weight has drastically fallen, but as for me, Dad, you are always going to be the best and strongest man I know. As my oldest brother said, "One thing I am very certain of . . . every one of his kids loves and respects him dearly." So happy Father’s Day, Dad! I love you.
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