Happy 4th of July

4th of July has always been a little bittersweet to me. As a child, I loved the fireworks and hated the effect they had on the animals. As an animal lover, I was worried about my pets and those of others when they got scared and panicked at the sound of fireworks and explosions on the 4th. I was raised in Oklahoma, where "safe and sane" (how sane?) fireworks were all the rage. I learned young that more animals are lost during that time than most other times of the year. As an adult, I celebrated the 4th for my children. Both of my parents passed (24 and 22 years ago)just before 4th of July. They were laid to rest on July 3 (my Mom) and July 5 (my Dad). My Dad passed away of cancer on July 1, just 11 days before my brother's wedding. It was a joyous day couched in sadness.

My Dad was a cool guy. He was all that a Dad should be. He was a great story teller -- one of those rare few who could command the attention of even fidgity little ones for long periods of time as he described in flowery detail his childhood in the Depression and World War II battles in Okinawa and Guadalcanal, where he was shot and wounded, only to go back into battle and be shot again. He saw many of his buddies die as they landed on the beach to take the island of Okinawa from the Japanese. He saw enough death to truly respect life. He survived all that. He was a Marine. He was a tough guy, and fair. He liked justice. He also liked babies and animals. He loved holding babies. He didn't care whose baby it was -- babies made him smile. Whether a genetic trait or acquired, I guess I got that from him. He called every baby he came in contact with "Squeaky". He'd see one passing in a stroller and say, "Hi Squeaky!". Kids loved him too. They gravitated towards him like magnets. He was easy to talk to, non-judgmental and, as a teenager, even when I didn't think he was cool, all of my friends did. When a cousin ran away from home, and didn't seem to trust any adults, she called him to come get her. He worked at a large market and more than once brought home kids who were scavenging for discarded and expired food in the dumpsters behind the store. We didn't have much, but our door was always open to kids who needed help. I remember one named Celeste. He brought her home a few times. She sought to escape from a violent home life and would come to us with black eyes and bruised ribs, hungry and tired. One time she slept for almost three days. She never asked for anything, but accepted help when she needed it and then went on her way. I heard years later that my Dad had gone to her house and told her father that if he ever did that again, he'd beat him so badly that no one would recognize him -- and he meant it.

My Dad enjoyed bowling and introduced my brother and I to that sport and we enjoyed it too (so much that my brother was able to go pro later on). We'd spend hours bowling or score keeping (back in the day when a kid could earn a few bucks doing that). One of our friends from the bowling alley came in one day and said he'd been kicked out of his home. He was a good student and had a friend who would let him stay at his home, but had no transportation. He asked my Dad to co-sign on a motorcycle. I heard my Dad say to him, "I will co-sign for you, but if you miss one payment or can't show me good grades and an insurance card, I will take the bike." Firm but fair. Ron told me later on how much that meant to him.

When my Dad died and we had the funeral, it was a small sort of intimate group, perhaps only about 60 people in attendance. But every one of them had a story. One girl came up to me and said, "I couldn't have gone to school if it weren't for your Dad. He paid for my books." I knew my Dad was a good guy, but the fact that other people knew it too was very heartwarming. He was not a wealthy man, but whatever he had he always shared. He was just my Dad. He died July 1, 1986. So the 4th of July is a little bittersweet. I miss him, but he gets to see all the fireworks from Heaven. Happy 4th of July.