Day Fifteen

Dad

I've been thinking about my father a lot. He died five years ago and I have avoided thinking too much about him - it hurts to think too much.

My father was a complicated man. He was born in 1925. When he was a kid, he collected various creatures (sound familiar?) He would sneak them into the basement and my grandmother either didn't care or was clueless. I think he had a pig and possibly a goat. Definitely dogs. No cats. My dad ordered one of the first pair of hamsters to come into the country from Aleppo (Syria) in the 1930's. I guess people were afraid if these rodents got loose, they would decimate crops! So, you had to have a license to breed them. My father was prone to hyperbole and exaggeration so that could be total bs.

When he was seventeen, he enlisted in the Army. He really wanted to be in a cavalry, but that didn't happen. My father loved horses. He loved to ride, and the more spirited the horse, the better. (Oh, dear, this hurts on so many levels....)

Daddy was, supposedly, a prisoner of war (WWII).) I say "supposedly" because he never talked about the war. Ever. When he was near the end of his life, he was reunited with a cousin he grew up with. She was more like a sister to him. And she was my godmother. It was this cousin who told me about his experience. She was there when he came home from the war, and she said he had been a POW. Daddy just got a faraway look when I asked him about it. Toward the end, whenever he tried to talk about the war, he would cry.

Just about every little girl thinks her daddy is handsome. Mine was. In his prime, he looked like Elvis Presley. He was tall and strong; loved to dance and sing and really appreciated a pretty girl. Daddy wasn't perfect, but he had a big heart and loved animals - a lot. He taught me how to shoot a gun - but he was not a hunter. He could never kill anything. It's because of him, I know people can be responsible gun owners. I never knew where the gun was kept.

I could pretty much bring any animal home - except for a cat. My mother just rolled her eyes and pursed her lips, but my dad was happy. He would help me create a living space for the creature, from a rabbit hutch or a duck pen to a turtle pond. The one animal he really wanted me to have was a horse. He tried so hard to find a farm for us, but it was never meant to be. He cried when I finally got my horse. I was in my fifties and dad was in his seventies.

My father liked all animals but he really loved dogs. For awhile, they bred Pekingese, then Scottish Terriers. At the end of his life, his constant companion was little Tootsie, a white Chihuahua. She never left his side. When we had to bring him here from Pennsylvania to live, Tootsie was with him. Her health deteriorated along with his. I did the best I could to keep her going, and took her to visit him in the nursing home. She died when my father died and their ashes are together.

I'm crying so much I can barely type, but I just have to say one more thing. Parents and grandparents really do have influence over children. They watch everything you do, and hear everything you say. And children who learn to love and respect animals can go on to have a greater appreciation for all life. If you aren't an animal lover, at least teach them to be kind.

Wilbert Warren Deer - 1925-2010
Wib/Bill/Daddy/Pap