Lessons from Dad
Earlier this week I spent time writing some of the lessons that I learned from my father, through the years. Today (Father's Day) I planned to edit them and post them to my blog. As I opened the document, it disappeared. That is the first document I've lost on my iPad (but evidently it happens). I'll try to take some time now to quickly write some more. I do need to hurry, my family is interested in playing some games today. Some of the photos in this post were taken by Dad, others reminded me of him.
1 During my fourth grade year, my family moved from East Airport Road, where Becky's family now lives, to our home on Lambert Road. Living in the country came with great blessings, it also came with a few disadvantages. One thing we disliked about the move was the long bus ride to school. We were one of the first families on the bus and rode all through the countryside as the rest of the bus was slowly filled to capacity. To make things worse, the bus drove right past our house (two times and we had to walk up the street to get on the bus, especially bad on the cold winter mornings). We even tried to arrange to ride the bus that passed the rapids (it would save us a lot of time). The bus driver wouldn't allow it.
It didn't take us long to notice that Dad drove past Groveland Elementary every day on his way to work. Dad agreed to take us to school IF we were ready early enough and he didn't have early meetings. It was so nice to have such a direct ride to school and save so much time. I tried hard every day to ride with Dad and was disappointed on the days that he had early meetings.
As we arrived at school and exited the Car, Dad would say, "Smile at your teacher." I'm not certain why it was that Dad said it, but every time I heard, "Smile at your teacher," I chuckled. I'm not certain that I ever did smile at my teacher, but I did enjoy my fourth and fifth grade teachers (Mrs. Stallings & Mrs. Anderson) at Groveland Elementary.
Now, as a father, I gladly take every opportunity that arises to drive my children to school. I look forward to the brief times that we have as we drive (typically alone in the car). As each of my children has exited the car, I catch myself echoing to them, "Smile at your teacher!"
2 Throughout my life, most of our great family vacations were camping in the mountains. We camped in so many different beautiful areas and hiked up so many different trails (it wasn't until I was a teenager that we began to take our motorcycles on our camping trips).
As I fished the hole, I practiced every fishing technique Dad had taught me through my few short years. I also tried to do the things Ken taught (probably most of them came from Dad). With each cast came the excited anticipation that perhaps I might reel in a large one.
Because the fishing hole was at the end of my cast, I would throw the fly (attached to my bubble) as far as I could. On some casts, it landed on or near the hole and on rare occasion it passed the hole so I could reel the fly over top of the waiting fish. One attempt was a perfect cast. I waited, hoping that the fish in the hole would forget about the sound of the bubble landing on the water. After a long wait, I then reeled the fly across the hole. At the point when I thought all hope was lost, ziiiiing. My bubble sunk into the water and my line began to be pulled from the reel. A moment later a humongous rainbow trout shot out of the water. I screamed, "It's a shark!"
Dean Ward (and some of his family) was with our family on that camping trip. He dropped his pole and rushed over to help. We were able to land that gorgeous 20 inch rainbow trout. It was so fat, that I could not reach both hands around its mid section.
On the hike back to the car Dad let me carry my fish in my backpack (even though he tried to warn me). I was the last person back to the car on the five mile hike from the lake. Even my younger brother arrived way before me. Dad offered to carry the fish, but I wouldn't allow it (finally I agreed to let him carry my sleeping bag and clothes). At the end of the hike, I only had my fish, but I earned it and was proud of it. Perhaps one of the greatest things about catching the biggest fish on that trip was that I caught that fish on my own fishing fly. Dad had just recently taught me to tie some fishing flies and this "Goodworth Special" was an orange shell-back that I tied by myself.
3 As I began to be older, Dad allowed me to go hunting with him and my older brothers. Dad and each of my brothers taught me their hunting techniques. About a year after I got my own hunting license, Clark and I drew out to hunt antelope near the Montana/Idaho boarder. We were so excited because Fred had shot a large antelope in the same area just a few years earlier. Dad was less excited because antelope meat doesn't taste as good as venison or elk.
Dad took us up to the ridge where Fred had shot his antelope. We arrived before the sun arose and waited for the antelope, but none came. Finally Dad convinced us to take a drive and go where the antelope might be.
As we rounded a bend in the road, we came across two antelope walking broadside up a hill, just a short distance from us. Dad had us quietly get out of the suburban as he slowly continued up the road (so the antelope wouldn't be spooked). Clark and I quickly began shooting up the hillside as the two antelope slowly continued walking up the hill.
Both Clark and I were amazed that we could shoot so many times and the antelope wouldn't drop. Clark ran out of ammunition before me and told me to get more for him out of the suburban. I'd learned from Dad and had extra ammo in my pocket. I told him to get his own, as I began to reload my rifle. As we continued to shoot, Dad began to say, "Wayne, your shot hit the dirt sever feet above his back. Clark, you were low..."
I'm not certain what possessed me, but in that brief moment, as a teenager, I actually listend to my father. I couldn't understand how I could look at the antelope, shoot, and still miss. Finally I realized I wasn't aiming. I aimed, pulled the trigger, and watched the antelope stumble. I was so excited as I called to Clark, "It works! Aim!!!" On his next shot, the last of the two antelope dropped. The other had walked over the ridge earlier (probably in a daze -- amazed that bullets could whizz all around him without ever touching him).
After that time, I always followed Dad's advice and aimed. I brought home more animals and my box of ammunition lasted for years. I have since gotten a number of deer with one shot and have even brought home a bull elk. While I never suspect I'll ever reach the number of animals that Dad got with a single shot to the neck, I am proud of my abilities.
I had written these three experiences earlier and planned to write many more before the document was lost. Some of the other memories I intended to write included:
- How much the copies of portions of Dad's missionary journal meant to me (he sent them while I served as a missionary in Brazil)
- The many acts of service that I participated in with Dad including:
- Building Aunt JoAnn's home after she became a young widow with seven children
- The work Dad did on Grandma Goodworth's home after Grandpa passed away
- The service to so many neighbors, widows, single mother families, etc.
- Annually cleaning the roadside as scouts
- The lessons learned while he served as scoutmaster (including, leave the place better than when you found it)
- The temple recommend interview he performed for me when he served in the bishopric (I was a youth).
Perhaps I can share these at another time. At this point, I just wish to say. Thank you Dad for the many lessons you shared with me.
Oh, by the way, we've played three games so far (Clue, once and Rummikub, twice). I've won all three games. I think this is the first time it's ever happened. Has the family conspired to let me win everything on Father's Day?
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