Dad

My dad is the youngest son of German immigrants who came to America in 1882. He was born in 1930, just before the "Dirty Thirties" got started. His father died of a heart attack when my dad was just a teenager so Dad didn't finish high school but he's one of the smartest men I know. My high school algebra was never a problem for him, nor figuring out how to get an engine running or building a complicated machine to do a task that he didn't want to do anymore. My dad is not a Luddite, at all. He likes machines and figuring out how to make something do the menial work.

He also built things for fun. We had a little tractor that could mow the lawn but could also be use as a 5-mph tow truck for a wagon filled with delighted children from other farms nearby. Remember the flimsy backyard swing set?

We had the biggest, best swings in the 60s because he looked at the design and made it better, sturdier in his shop, welding leftover pipes together perfectly in a frame that still stands today. Our teeter-totter has been the source of splinters for three generations. And yes, we are proud.

Dad farmed for decades, scratching out a living for my mom and his seven kids. When I was a child, he worked long hours, often leaving the house before we woke up and returning long after we were in bed.

He owns the house he grew up in on the acres that he bought from my grandmother after my grandfather passed away.

He realized that irrigation was the way to save his crops from the harsh South
Dakota summers when rain is never a certainty. He also raised cattle (Herfords) and pigs (Chester Whites)

but it always seemed like it was the corn, beans and sorghum that sustained us. If the price wasn't right, he'd store his grain in bins until the money improved. It was a gamble that sometimes paid off. Sometimes not.

Dad didn't have much choice in the 80s when he stopped farming and starting driving semi trucks for a living. He rented the farm land and supplemented the annual income with a more regular check from hauling hogs, cattle and grain (probably some from his own fields) hither and yon. He never stopped working hard, though. He continued driving trucks until 2010, well into his 79th year.

How lucky I am to have a father who always had the interests of his kids at heart. He still serves as an usher at the First United Methodist Church in Wagner. He and Mom still play cards with the neighbors once a month. He served in the Korean War (it was more than a Conflict) and proudly loves the United States of America. Yes, we have had our differences...I'm a Democrat...he's the Other Party. We don't always agree but what we he taught me is to work hard, play hard and never give up.

Thank you, Dad, for modeling the way for me. I am very, very grateful.