Remebering My Dad

Today were he still alive would be my dad's 92nd birthday. I think he's been gone for 21 years now and as anyone who has lost loved ones know you never stop missing them. In memory of my dad I thought I'd share a story about a small adventure we had one time that speaks as to the kind of man he was.

 
My memory has faded over the years but I think it was probably 1968 and I was 11 years old. My grandfather was living in a little town called Wittenberg, Mo in the south-east part of the state. It is just off the Mississippi river and prone to flooding. My dad had worked all day roofing and it was probably after 7 before he got home. He got a call from a relative that said that my grandfather had decided to stick out the flood and now was cutoff and isolated in his house by flood water. The phones were out, no such thing as cell phones in 1968, so no one knew if he was ok.  So my dad decided to head down to Wittenberg and check on him.

I have no idea how I ended up being in on this adventure. My dad was a man with no fear and believed his son should be raised with the same type of courage. No wonder my mom was a nervous wreck living with a man, who not only had no fear of anything and lived life that way, she had to worry if at any time he might get her only son killed in the process of getting himself killed.

So off we went on a mission of that in retrospect seemed crazy. The trip to Wittenberg was about 100 miles from our house so it was after 10 PM before we got down there. The roads were closed and we didn’t have a boat so the only way in was to walk. There are railroad tracks that run along the river, probably the same line that you can see from the JB Bridge and they are built up a little higher than the roads usually. Somehow dad found a place that we could get to the tracks and decided we would walk the tracks all the way into town and find my grandpa.

Imaging how dark it was in 1968 walking down a rail line in a rural area. Flashlights in 1968 were pretty basic and not real powerful. I remember that both of us carried only a basic two D-cell flashlight. I remember that it was pitch black. As we walked down those tracks the farther we walked the deeper the water started getting. I was always small for my size and was much shorter than my dad. As the walk progressed he told me to follow him and hold on to the back of his shirt so I didn’t get lost. So that’s what I did.

I remember being pretty scared during that journey but that wasn’t allowed so I kept my mouth shut. As the water got deeper and was now up to my chest all I could think of was the warnings I had heard on the news about how flood water is dangerous and you could get bad diseases like typhoid from being in it. But I trusted my dad and hung on to his shirt like my life depended on it. Actually it did.

I will never forget this until I die. I’m walking along in complete darkness, water up to my chest, when suddenly I stepped into what seemed like a hole the depth of the ocean. I didn’t see it coming and all of a sudden was completely submerged having lost my hold on his shirt. I was swallowing flood water and not being much of a swimmer I figured it was all over.

Isn’t it amazing how time seems to slow down in times of peril? But just when I was about out of hope this hand reached down and pulled me out of the water. And that is my dad, who he was. Though my dad did not allow his son to live life without danger, he was always there when I needed Him. I think one reason I am a man of strong faith in God is because I had a father who could be depended on to save you if you needed saving. Just like our Heavenly Father, my father was a man who you could trust.

So he carried me through the deep water until we got to a point where I could walk again. Somehow we made it to my grandpa’s house that night. I don’t remember much about the trip after I went under except that we got there and slept on the second floor of the house because I think there was water in the first floor.

When morning came we found and old boat and my dad rowed all three of us out, probably against the wishes of Grandpa who was as stubborn as a mule.

I am thankful for the memories of my dad on this July 5^th. He taught me how to be a man though I will never be half the man he was. So I try and be there for people like he was. By no means was my dad a perfect man but he loved people and was willing to do anything he had to help them. He loved unconditionally and like I tell my Christian brothers and sisters; I never heard my dad talk about Jesus but he lived his life more like Jesus did then any Christian I have ever met. We can talk all we want about our Christianity but if we aren’t willing to die for others in every way then we are not where we should be. I thank God for my dad and the great adventures we had.