Happy Birthday Dad; LONG

Hola Amigos,

Today is my dad's birthday. He would have been 75. He died 9 years ago. I still miss him terribly. I can't believe that it's been 9 years, because I probably think about him as much as I ever did. He was a big part of my life and he comes up often. I do think of him, in some way or another, each and every day of my life.

I have dreams about him occasionally. It's always kind of comforting, but the bad thing in the dream is that I know he's going to die, I just don't know when, and there's not a thing I can do about it. So every minute with him is a worried one.

His death was a complete shock. He'd gone through surgery and chemo/radiation for colon cancer and was given a clean bill of health half a year before he died. It was a blood clot that killed him (thrombosis), he'd developed them as a result of chemo. He was dead before he knew what hit him.

My dad was born in 1933 to my grandma Vera and my (biological) grandpa Lou. They lived in a tiny (pop. 100) town in Iowa. My grandpa ran a service station and my grandma, who was about as free spirited as they come, did her thing (I'll post about my grandma's social life some other time! She was a fun, fun lady). He has one sister, about 4 years older than he. When he was a baby he contracted polio. My grandma took him to a couple of doctors, one of whom told her he needed braces on his legs, and one who told her he didn't. She opted to not put braces on him. He got better, but his left leg was shorter and smaller than his right so he had a pronounced limp.

When he was 6 years old his father was diagnosed with cancer. It was so far along there was nothing to be done, so they sent him home to die. My dad remembers being with him and holding his hand, and his father saying "Look how strong you've gotten." My grandma said they were real buddies, 2 peas in a pod. "After Lou died your dad was never the same."

My grandmother had to provide for her 2 children so she moved around a bit, working in cafes and switchboards. During that time she and my dad got into a horrible car accident. My grandma sustained injuries, but my father was thrown from the car and very badly hurt. She said the left side of his head was completely smashed. She assumed he was a goner. Being in rural Iowa the hospital was very small, and she said she could hear him moaning all the time. He was in a coma, and every evening the doctors told my grandma that he wouldn't make it through the night. This went on for a week, until he woke up. But he needed extensive rehabilitation (he'd lost his ability to speak and had to relearn most things), so my grandma's sister, my aunt Bob (yes I had an aunt Bob) and her husband Harold took my dad in. He stayed with them while my grandma worked various jobs (my dad's sister was working alongside her), right up until she got remarried to the man I knew to be my grandpa Fred. By then my dad was 12.

My dad didn't like Fred, and grandma said that my dad was always causing or in trouble. She would get phone calls from the school asking her where Quentin was (my dad's name is Quentin!), and he was almost always at the pool hall. School bored him. He skipped ahead grades. He tutored kids years older than he was. He was just too smart for his own good.

At this time they were living on a farm. When he was 15 he was in the barn milking cows. There were barn kittens everywhere and one of the cows was stepping back and was going to step right on a kitten so my dad grabbed it, but the cow got spooked and kicked him in the leg (this was his polio leg, mind you). Rather than get trampled by a crazy cow, he pulled himself up on one of the rafters. He said when he looked down his left foot was facing backwards. Can you imagine that??? He screamed and screamed until my grandpa heard him and brought him into the house. He was in traction, had surgeries, pins and plates. His leg was such a mess.

Also at 15 he decided to be baptized in the Catholic church. He wasn't converting, mind you. My grandmother was not a religious person, so my dad was raised without religion. But he did some homework and to him being Catholic was a sure fire way to get into heaven. The story goes that he came home from school and said "Iron my white shirt mother. I'm getting baptized tomorrow." They even told that story at his eulogy.

After high school he enlisted in air force and was sent to Korea. He didn't have to do this. He had several excuses not to. Polio. The hardware in his knee. And he was the only remaining son in the family (his stepbrother, my grandpa's son, was a bomber pilot who was shot down during WWII). But he went anyway. And he knew that with the GI bill he'd be able to go to college for free.

So, he gets back from Korea (during which time he also sang in the Air Force barbershop quartet, The Barons of Harmony; we have albums and everything) and goes back to Fort Dodge IA. My mother had moved back in town after living in Los Angeles for a few years (that's for another post!), and my grandma mentioned that she saw her at the boy scout office where she was working. So he went to talk with her and asked her out. He called her up the next day and told her he loved her. She took some convincing but they got married in 1954.

They moved to Omaha where my dad enrolled at Creighton. He had planned to go to law school but after receiving some sage advice from one of the jesuits he enrolled in graduate school at Notre Dame and got his master's and ph.d in political philosophy (during which time they had 3 boys in the course of 4 years!). My grandma came to help out and asked my dad "Why live like this, why don't you just get a job?" because they were SO poor. All he said was "We can go barefoot another year."

After getting his degress, the rest of his life was spent in the world of academia, teaching positions, dean positions, up until the university promoted him to administrator. He told me he always wanted to go back to teaching, but that he knew this was something he could and should do.

In the early 90s he stepped down from administration and started a center on campus for the study of school choice. He was passionate about that. I don't know how I feel about it, I'm not sure how you feel about it, but I think you'd be hardpressed to find anyone more up on the subject than he was.

Those were some good years. He was doing research, writing, teaching.

I can tell you without hyperbole that my dad was the smartest person I've ever met. I wish that I had half of his brains, and one quarter of his drive and dedication.

I had the usual issues with my dad growing up. And I will tell you that he was a tough, tough man. You didn't cross my father, you see? So being a rebellious teen didn't go over very well in our house. I'd do it, and I'd get away with stuff, but brother did I pay the price. Has anyone ever jabbed you in the sternum with their finger? That was always the worst. He could get SO angry, and the next thing you know you're stuck in a corner with him and he is PISSED.

He had his share of problems. I love him too much to pass those on here. I just reminded myself that his childhood was probably terrible. Lots of good thrown in there, of course, but lots of pain.

The thing I miss so much about my dad is that he was someone that if I had a question, I'd ask him, he'd answer me, and I'd never doubt him. Not in a naiive way, either. Just that over the years he'd proven himself to be honest and wise. I dont' trust many people the way I trusted him.

I don't think my father knew how to lie. Some of that he got that from my grandmother, who got that from her mother. "Always tell the truth. That way you don't have to remember what you said." Think about it. And to him it was just plain wrong to lie. He was very fair, and he treated everyone with respect, and he didn't have a bigoted bone in his body.

He had a lovely singing voice. He was unbelievably strong. But not a tall man. My dad was probably 5'7" in his stocking feet. He couldn't ride a bicycle (I probably wouldn't have learned after all that he went through either!). He didn't swim. The man never wore shorts. NEVER. My mom wished that he would, because he had nice legs (and he really did, in spite of his injuries). But nope, no shorts. Or jeans. I never saw my dad in jeans. He didn't fish or hunt. Or golf.

I get my feelings about animals from my dad. He loved animals. He was one of those people that animals would gravitate to, ones that hate everyone else would love him. We only had a couple pets over the years, mostly because my mom didn't want any (and my heart breaks for him because I know that was a sacrifice for him...he'd have loved to have more pets). He loved the Packers (even before he became a Wisconsinite) but he wasn't foolish about it.

I could go on about my dad forever. Maybe I'll stop here and do this again next year. Let me just tell you something about him. He wasn't affectionate, he didn't go around telling us he loved us, none of that. We had a somewhat icy household. And in many ways that's not a good thing. But I know how much he loved us. He stayed at his job as an administrator at least partly, if not entirely because he knew that would help his family. He worked at the university because he knew that would provide for our education. I never wanted for anything. I wasn't spoiled at all, but I was well provided for. Strict or not, my dad was always there. He was home after work, he was home on weekends, he would get us up in the morning. It was my dad who would get my sister and me ready for bed (until of course we were old enough to do it ourselves!). That counts for a lot. And you know what he did once? When I was 9 he took me and my sister and my mom on a trip to South Dakota, Wyoming, Yellowstone. It was so much fun. About 5 years go by and at dinner I said "That trip we took was really fun." A couple days later my dad approaches me with this week long trip he planned to Orlando. Disney, Cape Kennedy, Busch Gardens, the whole 9 yards. I'll never forget that. I think that was just about the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me (I know it wasn't just for me, but still, I can't help but feel responsible!). And my dad was so much fun on vacation!!! We had an absolute ball. He'd go on ANYTHING; we even went through the It's a Small World thing. A fond memory is seeing the look on his face when we went into the haunted house. He looked like he was about 5 years old.

As I got older my relationship with my dad was actually pretty close. I talked to him often. His office was right behind mine so I would see him a lot. We'd play scrabble. He'd help me trim my bushes and other stuff around the house.

The thing that makes me saddest about his passing is that I wasn't finished with him. Not that you ever are, really, but I had SO much more I wanted to learn from him and do with him. I never thought he would be taken from me so quickly. I know from his standpoint that was OK. His affairs were in order (he told me he always figured he'd be dead before he was 40, because his dad died so young) and he was right with God, I have no doubt. But for me, my guru was gone.

I miss him so much. I hope some day to see him again.