Being born smack dab in the middle of the Great Depression, my father learned early the virtues of sacrifice and hard work. The oldest in his family, he practically raised his 6 brothers and sisters, as his mom struggled with health problems for years before ultimately passing away at a young age. My father was already 40 by the time I was born, and had seen more life in those 40 years than many do in 80.
My father has always been a hard worker. He still works full time, doing manual labor, just like he has his whole life. For most of my formative years he worked in a steel mill, and before that he worked in a coal mine. While some mining and mill jobs pay very well, the positions my dad held rarely paid more than a modest wage. With my mother at home tending to the family and my dad earning only a modest wage, money was often pretty tight.
My family had the classic "one man farm" where we raised a variety of animals and had large gardens. During the summer and fall, most of the vegetables we ate came from our own garden, and during the cold months we often ate what we had canned and stored. Meat, milk, cheese and eggs also often came from our little farm. For us, going to the grocery store was often viewed as a supplement to our food supply, rather than the source of it.
Because of our way of life when I was young, there were always many chores to do. My father would arise early to feed, water, and milk the animals. It was always a lot of work, but even more so during the cold, harsh Utah winters. He would then head off to work - often for a 12 hour shift - and then arrive home only to repeat the chores again. We all pitched in and did our part, but it was always dad who did the bulk of it.
With what "spare" time my dad had, he was usually volunteering his time with the local scout group, serving in his church duties, or making some repair to the barn, the house or the car. My dad has spent his life serving others.
I always knew that my father worked hard, and sacrificed much for me. But, even so, I guess the full awareness of these types of things doesn't set in until you begin to grow older and go through many of the same things. Looking back now, he did so much more for me than I ever realized. There is one example in particular that nicely symbolizes who my father is, and what he did for his family....the story about his boots.
As a kid, I remember occasionally complaining about the second-hand shoes my parents would buy for me. They were too tight, or too big, or just too ugly. I remember selfishly thinking about how unfair it was that I had to have someones smelly old used shoes. On the rare occasion that I did get new shoes, I was so excited to get them that I really didn't mind that they were usually some cheap brand that no one had ever heard of. I never thought about my dad's shoes...
My dad would get a pair of steel toed cowboy style work boots from the steel mill, and he would wear them at work, outside doing chores, to scouts, and everywhere else. Every Sunday morning he would lay out an old newspaper on the floor, set his boots on the paper, and begin polishing them up the best he could so that they'd look good for church. This was his routine for probably 10 years. 10 years of quietly making little sacrifices so that the rest of us could have what we need. I love my dad for the sacrifices he has made for me and my family.
Dad, this song is for you. Happy Birthday!
