Life Matters - June 16, 2021
My family, being of Swiss/German descent, call him Dat, my father, the male part of the equation responsible for my existence on planet earth. He saw a lot of changes in his own existence of 85-plus years on this globe still spinning in its yearly orbit when I came along. And does still. It has now orbited the sun 60 times, going on 61, since I was born.
When I was a young child, I thought Dat was always right. He was as constant to me as the sun arising in the morning and setting in the evening. I craved his approval, even as I feared his displeasure. He was the smartest man I knew and if he made mistakes I didn't notice. But adolescence, the teen years, and the young 20s were just around the bend and coming, or so it seems in retrospect, at full throttle. I should have waited for the northbound train, but instead I got on the southbound with its temporary exciting allurements. As it took me farther and farther away from the solid moorings of my upbringing, Dat looked more and more like a cultural misfit stuck in an era that had lost its relevance.
But I settled down, married the girl of my dreams, and sometime in my young 30s, with a wife and young children of my own now, I came to understand dear Dad and his ways better. As the old Indian proverb goes, I was now walking a mile in his moccasins. I understood that it was Dad's traditional stability that provided for the setting of childhood experiences that I treasure to this day. Was Dad perfect? Indeed not. Did Dad make mistakes? He did. And it is important to acknowledge those mistakes so as not to keep repeating the same, as I, as well as all of us I reckon, have enough mistakes of our own to deal with.
It seems every generation has an inborn instinct to live a life that is better than those who've gone before. I have come to accept that instinct as a God-given one to help avoid the mistakes of our forebearers. But as we try to avoid the mistakes, let us not forget to honor their toil, struggles, and tears for us who benefit from the trails they blazed. Tradition is a neutral word, it can be good or it may be bad. Tradition itself may even be somewhat neutral, but is anything really neutral in light of eternity? Dat didn't seem to think so and at a young age we were introduced to our Father God who could see and hear everything we said or did. Dat, we understood, would do the best he and Mam (Mom) could, but ultimately, we would answer to our Father God who knows us better than we know ourselves.
One of the memories l treasure is riding the two-way turning plow behind a team of three draft horses, the earthy scent of the turning soil in the fresh spring air with the faint smell of horse sweat carried on the breeze. The gentle clanking of the chain traces on the harness mingled with the cries of hungry migrating sea gulls descending into the plow furrow for a meal of unfortunate earthworms cut in two by the turning plow or unable to get away fast enough. The spring sun warming me and the earth.
Dad passed on in 2006. I want to honor him here as son grateful for his legacy. If I were able, I would thank him again for the heritage he and Mom left us. I am thankful I had the privilege to bless and thank them before they passed on. I recommend it. The Godly values our parents taught and poured into their children's lives are forever relevant. While the orbit continues…and…when it stops.