Last week my step-father died. He had suffered a series of illnesses and outlived them all. He was a strong man in his youth and was tough to the end. Finally his body decided he'd had enough. He died in his own bed with his family in the house.
John was my father for as long as I remember. My Mom and Dad divorced when I was a baby and Mom married John when I was 3. We lived on small farm just outside of Decatur, IL. Mom still lives there today.
John was a hard father. He liked things done his way and was pretty intolerant of any variation. And noisy kids made him mad. Since most of our weekends were spent around our cousins (12-15 kids at a time), he had a lot of noisy kids around. So he yelled at us. We ended up spending lots of time outside on our 6 acres or outside on our cousins' 5 acres.
I was afraid of his anger. I was afraid of spanking and of his lectures. When we got in trouble, he'd lecture us. And since he was long-winded anyway, they were long lectures. There is one specifically I heard many many times. The "Life is a Two-Way Street" lecture. In this one, life is a 2-way street. If you want to get something, you have to give something. You should not expect to be just given something in life. It was probably good advice. But I heard it enough that I stopped listening to it. It was just the "Life is a Two-Way Street" lecture.
My brother had a harder time with John. I don't know if it was because he was the oldest or if it was because Terry was not one to do things John's way. It's not important. I was afraid for Terry and I was afraid for myself.
I moved out when I went to college and came back that first summer for only 2 weeks. Then I moved in with my Grandmother. I could no longer take John telling me what to do. I'd say that is pretty typical of an 18-year-old who knows everything.
It was probably the best decision I ever made. Not because I had to get away from John, but because once I lived elsewhere, I could get to know him. I married early - and often - but John loved all my wives. (as a side note, Michelle and I are going to be celebrating 20 years - I think I finally learned something about marriage). And they loved him. They didn't know "father" John. They only knew the John the public knew. That's the John I met after I moved out.
I forgave John for all he put me through as a child. I called him in the early 80's to tell him so. When he had brain surgery (he always seemed to need surgery), I went down to drive him home. He thanked me. He was very grateful - as if he knew he was hard on us when we were kids.
He loved his grandkids. Here's a story about that says everything about my two fathers and their grandchildren. One summer I went to visit my dad in Marion with my sons. Dad sat around talking about himself and seemed to think that that is what kids wanted to do. And he treated Andrew (my stepson) much worse that Brent (my biological son) when they were doing the same thing. Then I went to Decatur to see John and Mom. John had come up with a game for them to play outside. Got all the stuff together and went out and played with them. He wanted to play with his grandchildren, not have them listen to him.
John never met a stranger. Anyone who stopped long enough to listen to him say hello got the pleasure of hearing some 20 minute story. He liked to talk to people. And his stories had minute detail. My son once suggested a game where we tell a story as John would tell it. I used to have an hour-long drive to take him home after a weekend at our house and we filled it once telling the story of how we went to the store to buy some soap. He was famous - or infamous - for telling stories.
He liked to work with his hands. In high school he took the carpentry class and built homes. He went to work repairing gas and electric meters for Illinois Power. When our house became too small, he built an addition - the addition was bigger than the house it was attached to. He built it with his own hands, with help from his father and my uncle, mostly. He fixed his own cars. He repaired lawn mowers. He gardened. He took care of animals. He put up fences. He roofed. And, when he retired, he started doing stained glass. His first pieces were primitive, but he soon learned how to do intricate cuts and fine soldering and crafted some amazing art. I have a lamp and a mirror. There are lamps and light fixtures throughout their house. And he made an amazing window by the front door.
But he rarely finished projects. That addition he built? Took years. The bricks that were to be put on the face of the house sat in the driveway for literally 20 years. He started things and didn't finish. Or half-finished. He moved on to the next project. That is one of the lessons I took from him. Finish projects. I keep going until I am finished, even after exhaustion. I hate leaving things unfinished.
So what is John's legacy? He was a character. I loved him and I'll miss him. He is in a better place now and for that I am thankful. I'm also thankful I could be there when he went.
I'll leave you with the essay I wrote and read at his funeral. It is my tribute to my father, John:
John Traughber was my father. I never called him "Dad". He was always "John". There was always a "step" before his title. And I had a "Dad".
But John was my father. He went to work every day for me and our family. He built a house - eventually - for us. He fed us with his hobbies - gardening and farm animals. He adopted us with his actions which were more important than any legal proceedings.
John liked things done his way and he could be hard on us. And yet I still don't drop sharp knives in the dishwater. He shared his silly jokes and his comedy albums. My wife often rolls her eyes as a result.
John told long stories. And gave long lectures. And prayed long prayers. He taught me the importance of brevity. I try to tell short stories, lectures and prayers.
John loved me and lectured me and punished me and took care of me. He taught me how to be and how not to be a father. That's what fathers do.
Goodbye father. I'll miss you.
