DAD
We used to call him Papa when I was a child. It was not my lot to really know him. Under different circumstances I believe he might have been a scholar but the path of life that he was wont to trod was not an easy one. A horse and saddle were his constant companions during that period to which we all look back with a bit of nostalgia. His youth was spent holding cattle. In my generation we called it herding. Little had really changed but the name. It was a time of communion. With what? Nature! Yes, of course, but more than that, it was a time to dream and perhaps to look to the future and perhaps prepare for it. In those days the mind roamed free. It might reach to the family and a very few people with whom one worked; but the point is, it was shaped to a large extent by communion with God, nature and the books we read. No radio or television to clutter the orderly process of thought. No brassy clanging of noisy sound that some youth of a later period would call music. He read poetry and studied Latin and he became rather adept at it when one considers that his mind was self taught. He never became rich or famous. Why? I suspect his formative years did not fix his mind to persue such a goal. I suspect that by the standards of the world; he was a failure. No eulogy was read at his funeral and no funds were left in his account at the bank. It was on a February night in '37 when he passed from life to another life and we who mourned his passing were forced to carry on. Older brothers and sisters had their own lives to live. Who would assume control and make decisionss? There was a farm to look after. The ravages of drought and depression had taken a toll. The cattle were few in number and the work horses had been reduced to perhaps a six horse team and a saddlehorse. I was seventeen and Mom, plus a younger sister and brother must continue to live as best we could. I took some time out from school. We butchered a calf for food. An older sister was teaching school and somehow we managed. The decisions concerning the farm were made for us. An auction would dispose of the farm property. Could we survive for a while on the proceeds of the sale? No! dear reader we could not. All the proceeds would be applied on the mortgage and at the end of the school year we would load a few household belongings into a 1929 Ford car and move to nearby Studley. Here, Mom, the younger brother and sister and an older sister, Vera, would set up a home. Vera taught at the Studley school. Mom lived there for a while and moved to Hoxie in time for the 1938-39 school term. I returned home to complete my high years. What was the legacy that Dad left us? It certainly was not money. I believe that he left something for better. Faith? No, that would come later. Virtue? Indeed yes. I believe that the gift from Dad to us was the state of mind to accept what we cannot change and be thankful for what we have. Above all was a compulsive inner drive to deal honestly with our fellow man. Is there a more valuable legacy? I believe not.