My father is an anomaly.
He grew up in a time when
boys were supposed to be
tough and masculine, always
showing strength, stoic,
unaffected by pain or
emotional hurt, dependable.
His father was a skilled
carpenter, a machinist with
an engineer’s mind, but not
wealthy enough to be educated.
Chauncey was an artist, a violinist,
a builder, a skater, an automobile
maker , a Jack of all Trades, a quiet
introvert, not practiced in
the art of parenting.
Most men in the thirties and forties
weren’t . It wasn’t expected.
Yet somehow, my father,
also an artist, a carpenter, a sailor,
a builder, a singer, a reader and
an educator, was a patient
responsible, loving parent.
He worked two and three jobs
while building our home,
plumbing, wiring, painting,
designing and constructing
all of it by himself.
Our water came from
a cistern he created.
He taught me about trees,
birds, stars and constellations.
He canned beans, put our kitchen
wherever Mom wanted it.
He built an outhouse
because three daughters
and a wife with one bathroom …
He taught me to drive a stick shift,
to love nature, to work hard
and be dependable, to use tools
and paint walls, to build a fire
and change a tire.
My father has always loved me,
through all my mistakes
and disppointments.
He has been my role model,
always consistent, ever humble.
I wish I could have given
my daughters a father like mine.
6/16/24
KW
