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| The Barlows at Dad's funeral-November 2013 |
One year ago today my dad died. Coincidentally, I recently was asked to type up some "memories" of my dad, and I just so happened to be working on that today. I thought it would be appropriate if I shared them here. I realize that some of these "memories" may be redundant since fairly recently I composed a post about my dad (see
this post), but nevertheless, here's today's thoughts:
Dad never “visited” with me much; and he NEVER got after
me. However, I ALWAYS knew that he loved
me and worried about me. I never had a “curfew,”
but I knew that if I was ever out later than he thought I should be, he would
come looking for me. I wouldn’t get “an earful”
(again, I never remember getting “in trouble”), but I might be embarrassed by
his spying/checking up on me. One summer
night, when I was home from college for the summer, I went over to a girlfriend’s
house to “hang out” with her and a couple other girlfriends. (There were no boys there.) My parents knew where I was. Late that evening the phone began to
ring. I panicked knowing it HAD to be
my dad. (These were the days before cell
phones.) My friend’s parents were in
bed. I told my friend Kim, “Quick, get
the phone; it’s my dad!” As it turns
out, it was my mom. She was calling to
tell me that my dad had been out “checking” on me, and got stuck in the soft
dirt at Kim’s house. He had taken my car
home; and left me with the stuck one.
She was calling to tell me to get a ride home, and that Dad would come
get the stuck car out in the morning. My mom also had to quit calling me at college
in the evenings, because if I was not “home” at my apartment, my dad would
hound her to keep calling back again and again until I got home so he could be
sure I was OK and “safely home” in my apartment. (Mom began calling me early in the morning
before I’d left for class so that she could be sure to catch me at home. Additionally, she wouldn’t tell Dad she was
calling until she actually had me on the line, so she wouldn’t have to
continually call back until I was home.) One time, when my ride back to college
(BYU in Provo) fell through, my dad, with no fanfare or complaint, simply
walked out, got in the car, and said, “Let’s go.” He drove me to Provo, let me out at my
apartment, and without even getting out of the car, turned around and started
back to Logandale; it was a 12-hour, spur-of-the-moment, unplanned trip that he
took without a second thought because he knew I needed help.
I don’t ever remember Dad being irritated by much of anything. He didn’t seemed bothered if the house was
noisy or messy. He wasn’t bothered if
there was “nothing good to eat” or if he was awakened in the night by a crying
baby or a noisy teenager. He was never
annoyed by other drivers on the road.
(Actually, he was usually the one doing the “annoying” since he drove
very slowly.) And (sometimes to Mom’s
annoyance) he wasn’t irritated if things were broken or not “fashionable.” (The first few summers in our new house, he “rigged”
the big AC unit -which was supposed to go
on our roof, but which he had not yet installed- as a window unit creating a
wind tunnel through the dining room and over-cooling that part of the house,
while the bedrooms remained hot. We kids
all just slept on the dining room floor in order to keep cool; leaving a “sleep-over”
mess every morning in the dining room.
He also thought it was perfectly fine to keep the old comfortable couch
on the front porch so he could lay out there at night. And, we thought it was just standard fare to
spend several hours waiting in a mechanic shop for car repairs whenever we went
on a trip. He was not irritated by broken
cars or delayed trip plans.) I remember when the family dog, Lady, got locked
in the car all night, and chewed the entire inside to shreds (stuffing coming
out of the seat, bites from the dashboard, and claw marks all over); he did not
seem fazed; he was hardly even irritated. We just kept driving it, with the stuffing
coming out, etc. Because of his “unirritated”
example, I’m not sure any of us kids even knew it was a “problem” to be driving
a “chewed up” car. Another time, when I
had just received my driver’s license, I was driving the big family van, down
the hill from my friend Corinne’s house.
It was night, and I was worried about driving that big of a
vehicle. I “hugged” the side of the hill
a little too tight, tearing off all the trim and scratching up the side of the
van. I remember when I told him what I’d done, he did not react at all; I don’t
even remember what or if he said anything.
Those things just did not matter to him. He didn’t care if he drove a
nice car or wore nice clothes. In fact,
I really cannot remember much of anything that irritated or got him upset,
UNLESS, he thought someone was being treated unfairly. When he coached my brothers’ teams, he liked
to make sure EVERYONE had equal opportunities to play. When he was the high priest group leader, he
was determined to make sure a member suffering with health concerns got the
help he needed. And he would get very
upset if he ever felt that anyone was
over-charged or mis-treated. (In some
ways Trent reminds me a lot of Dad; Trent never says much about anything and is
very calm and not easily upset; Trent does not care if his clothes or shoes are
“stylish” or new; he is talented and smart, but avoids the "limelight." However, occasionally, he
will come home from school and tell me something unkind or unfair that someone
(even an adult) said or did to someone else; and he will be noticeably upset;
and make a comment like, “I lost a lot of respect for him/her.”)
I’m not sure if Dad ever actually read “The Family, A Proclamation to the World;” but, as a father, he had a
natural ability to fulfill his divinely-outlined roles: he provided for us; he protected us; and he
presided over us; and most importantly, he loved us. Dad did not like to be the center of
attention; he didn’t think that he was smart or talented, but he was both. He had a unique way of noticing things and
taking care of our family and others who needed his help without fanfare or
accolades. I am so glad that I had the privilege of being
his daughter and growing up with a Dad who never yelled or got upset. It was a wonderful way to be raised.
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| Some of the Barlows at Dad's grave-Memorial Day 2014 |
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