FATHER'S DAY TRIBUTE
by Janis Stein

We sometimes take our family for granted, our fathers included, and we often forget to tell them just how much they mean to us. Dads are special in their own right, and I'd like to share a few important lessons I've learned from mine over the years.

Stop and smell the coffee. When I was a little girl, my parents often enjoyed a 10 a.m. coffee break, particularly during the winter months. It didn't seem significant at the time, for dad had either just finished cleaning out the snow-filled driveway, creating massive mountains for us to climb on later, or he had returned from completing one task or another at the barn that never quite got done during the course of the normal chore time. A cup of coffee seemed to be a logical answer to warm his body, but in actuality, my parents were having a date.

Ten minutes before the top of the hour, Mom would fill the kettle with tap water and set it on the stove to heat, retrieving the jar of instant Maxwell House coffee from the cupboard in the process. Like clockwork, Dad would come in the door, cheeks ruddy from the wind and cold, eager to embrace the warmth. At precisely 10 o'clock, the kettle's whistle would blow, announcing the time had come. The pair sat side by side at their respective places at the kitchen table, sipping their brew and discussing any number of topics ranging from bills to the weather to their four darling children. Sometimes they didn't say anything at all, sitting instead in a comfortable silence born from years of togetherness.

On those extremely blustery days when little could be done outside, Dad might inquire about what Mom had planned for the noon meal. We generally had meat, potatoes and a vegetable, always in varying forms, and Dad would then, on occasion, disappear down the basement stairs, which lead to the cellar and last year's potato crop. After having retrieved a pot filled with potatoes, he promptly sat down on a kitchen chair and began to peel - a simple act of kindness and one less thing Mom had to do in her never-ending list of jobs a mother needed to accomplish to keep the house running smoothly.

Money doesn't grow on trees. What kid hasn't heard that one? Growing up, we probably didn't have much in the way of worldly goods compared to some kids, but we had all we needed - a long lane to ride our bikes and a tattered softball to toss around in the summer; blocks, plastic farm animals and card games in the winter; and blue skies and endless acres to explore no matter what the season. And we had our imaginations, something that probably developed out of necessity and maybe to a greater degree than those born with a silver spoon.

Treat yourself. Growing up, most Sundays played out the same way at our house, especially during the summer months. After church, the entire family gathered around the television to catch the last bit of Ma & Pa Kettle. We'd laugh together as the hilarious duo tried to make orange juice by placing oranges in nylon stockings and then running the nylons through a wringer washing machine. Their capers were endless.

Dad would often do the honors of making lunch - hamburgers and homemade French fries. When the dishes were washed and put away the six of us would pile in the car and go for a drive, always stopping at Sandmann's for a six-pack of Pepsi and a bag of chips. Though seemingly simple, it was a real treat.

There's no place like home. Growing up on a farm, there was always something to do and fun to be had. Not long ago I entered my dad's century-old barn and was overwhelmed by the memories brought on by the sights, sounds and smells. Sitting on a bale of hay, everywhere I looked I saw the little girl I used to be. To my left was the haymow, filled to capacity with feed for the upcoming winter. To my right, a ladder I had climbed many times, leading to the golden wheat straw above, the rectangular bales carefully stacked and fit together like pieces in an intricate puzzle. I could almost hear the sound of the rattling elevator, transporting bales from wagon to mow. I could hear, too, my father's reminder to not fall off the wagon as I unloaded.

I walked down the alley, pausing at an empty pen, which used to house our newborn calves. Closing my eyes I could hear their incessant bawling as they impatiently awaited their milk. I remembered putting my hand in their mouth to pacify them until their pail of milk arrived, always surprised at the strength of their hungry suck. I marveled at their wobbly legs and persistence in mastering a steadier gait.

I walked on, seeing things not in the present but as they used to be. I paused to look at the spot where the cream separator sat for decades: a necessity for the first generation; a coat rack for the second; an antique for the third.

Looking out the door leading to the barnyard, memories rushed to greet me and I laughed aloud at our efforts to ride atop the cattle when we should have been working!

And in my memories everywhere I looked, there, too, I saw my dad.

Now that I'm a bit older and, perhaps a bit wiser, I have come to realize what a great childhood I had growing up on a farm - and I have my dad to thank for that. Baling hay, picking stones, milking cows…it was all a lot of work, but mixed in with the work was tons of fun. And from it I learned responsibility, contentment, the value of a dollar, fairness, pride in a job well done…the list is endless. There really is no place like home.

This Father's Day share with your dad, the lessons you've learned from him. And more importantly, Dads, in 30 years, what lessons will your children say they learned from you?