A Tribute to Dad

There were times in my growing up years that I wasn't too fond of my dad.

He and I share a strain of stubbornness which has been deeply embedded in the Haug family for generations.  This strain does lead to confrontation at times. 

But what I have also discovered is there is a strain of patience as well--a strain that waits and endures as stubbornness eventually turns into admiration.

There were many things my dad did that annoyed me as a kid:

1. I didn't like him dragging me away those summer days to work in the cotton patch and grain fields.
2. I didn't appreciate him tearing me away from my basketball hoop to mow the lawn.
3. I didn't want to watch him change the oil, or fix anything automotive for that matter.
4. I didn't want to spend time planting in the garden, harvesting vegetables, or processing those vegetables.  I just wanted to eat them.
5. I didn't like it when he kept telling me I needed to try those foods I didn't think tasted particularly good.
6. I was embarrassed when he acted goofy and playful with other adults and kids.  Did he have to pretend like he was going to run into somebody with the car?  Did he have to make those jokes?  Did he have to laugh like that?
7. I was angry that he didn't buy a cooler car for me to drive around in.

But, looking back, I know my father's wisdom.  Want a story to illustrate it?  (Too bad if you don't.  I'm telling it anyway.)

One day, he and I set out to repair a lawnmower which was not running optimally.  We were dismantling it when we came to a particularly stubborn bolt.  I was wrenching it all different sorts of ways trying to manhandle it.  Dad waited a few moments and then said, "Kevin, let me tell you how to get that off."

I smarted off saying something like, "Why can't I do it this way?"  (There's that stubborn streak I talked about earlier.)

Dad didn't force me to change what I was doing.  He didn't get angry or frustrated.  He just said, "I'm going to go do some work.  You keep working at that thing, and when you get tired, you come get me."

At that point, I was bound and determined to get the bolt loose.  "I'll be d@mned if I let him win on this one," I told myself.

About an hour later, I was ready to admit defeat.  I couldn't get the bolt loose.  I was tiring, and even though I considered myself strong and intelligent and able to do things my way, I found myself at a loss.  I reluctantly went and got my father.

Dad talked me through a couple of steps and in less than a minute, the bolt was loose, and we were able to continue fixing the lawn mower.

But more than that lawnmower was fixed that day.  A bit of that stubbornness went out of yours truly because I learned that I had much to learn.  I learned my father had much to teach.  The process of admiration and respect took even deeper root than I would have thought.

My Dad was pretty wise.  Let me figure it out on my own.  Let me admit defeat.  Teach me a lesson in humility.  Important stuff. 

Now, as I look back at all that stuff I was annoyed at, I realize my Dad's purpose in all of it.  He was being a master craftsman working to build his little boy, his growing son, his arrogant teen, and his maturing youth into a man--a  man who would one day have a family of his own; a man who would need to learn responsibility, humor, hard work, and a willingness to try different things so that he could provide for and take care of his wife and children.

I understand now, Dad.  Thanks for putting up with me during those  years and being patient.  I hope you can see your efforts have paid off.  Because I'm trying to instill those same values you instilled into me into my own children. 

You and mom mean a ton to me, but today is your day, Dad.  Happy Father's Day!