Dad

I said goodbye to my father this morning as he flew out of New Hampshire and back to Idaho. In April he and my mother will leave on their mission to be directors of welfare in Russia and Eastern Europe. (Mom is staying on one extra week to help me here.) Knowing that I won't see him for two years makes me teary and reflective.

My dad has always been my friend - even through my teenage years. In my opinion his greatest characteristic is his ability to listen non-judgmentally and love.
Some of my favorite memories of time spent with my dad revolve around the Minidoka County Fair. My brothers and I were each given a lamb and a pig to take to the fair in the summer. We were supposed to care for our animals and train them so they could be shown and later sold at the fair. I didn't do a great job of either the caring or the training so about one week before the fair I would get very serious about trying to get my now-grown lamb to walk around mildly on a lead. I confess, I despised working with my pig and spent even less time in the pigpen than with my lamb. Arriving at the fair with our camper which was stocked with food for meals and snacks we carefully washed (this was a soapy, soggy lot of fun) and groomed (dad did much of this while I "helped") our animals. With our 4-H club we had decorated their pens and now we were free to enjoy the fair until it was time to show our animals.

I showed my lamb and pig in two categories, quality (was the animal built properly and had it been cared for and fed to enhance it's physical traits?) and fitting & showing (had I trained the animal to respond to my cues and did I know how to best present the animal to the judge?). A purple Grand Champion ribbon was up for grabs in both categories.

I took a pig to the fair for 4 years. Each year I felt like something catastrophic happened during the showing of my pig. (Based on my effort I don't know what I expected.)
YEAR 1: My pig had a propensity for fighting with other pigs. (Supposedly if you spray hairspray on the pig's snout and they can't smell each other they don't fight. Also an extra person is stationed in the ring at all times and if a fight breaks out between porkers he separates them with a large, square board carried for that very purpose.) It is with regret that I inform you that my pig was very combative that year. So much so that one man was assigned just to cover me and my pig every time we were in the ring while another handled all the rest.

YEAR 2: My pig was clearly exhausted from all the excitement and as the judge was studying him he simply laid down in the ring. No amount of coaxing, pleading, or desperate praying seemed to appeal to his sense of decency and he laid there most of the round. When it was time to go back to his pen he rose and sauntered out.

YEAR 3: This pig apparently became nervous while being scrutinized by the judge and pee-peed down the leg of my white pants (customarily worn for showing animals in my 4-H days lest you think I was idiotic for wearing white)!

YEAR 4: This crafty swine managed to get by me (not hard) and also between the barrel and the wall of the judge's booth (next to impossible!) and up into the judge's stand where all the helpers were watching, keeping records for the judge, and handing out ribbons. Some of these good folks climbed up on their chairs. (After all, they had seen Pee-Pee pig from year 3.) Others managed to shoo him back out into the ring where I stood, mortified and defeated.

I never showed another pig and I take shameless delight in a good pork chop.

But back to memories of dad and I. As much as I loathed showing pigs, I loved showing sheep. My lamb and I got blue ribbons in both Fitting & Showing and Quality and it was lots of fun. My most memorable year was the year I was 14. I won my class in Quality and was in the ring again waiting for the judge to pick the grand champion out of all the lambs who had won in their individual weight divisions. I was excited and nervous, with layered permed hair and tinted glasses with an apple decal. (My sisters recently told me that of all the girls they've seen, puberty hit me the hardest. Sadly, they were right.) When the judge motioned for me to take my animal to the front of the line and handed me the purple ribbon I looked at my dad who always stood off to one side quietly watching. When our eyes met, I started to cry. I'm crying again as I write this just remembering that moment shared with my dad. (I forbid any of you to mention anything about puberty or, much worse, menopause in your comments.)

At the end of the fair each 4-Her could choose one animal to sell if they desired. I always sold my pig and used some of the money to purchase my school clothes. This year I sold my lamb knowing that the Grand Champion sheep always brought between four and five hundred dollars. When I came out with my lamb and the auctioneer began the bidding I watched my dad's face trying to get an idea of how things were going. He was completely unreadable and I couldn't understand a thing being said. But the bidding went on for a long time. When the auctioneer finally banged his gavel and yelled "Sold!" a cheer erupted from the stands. Dad came forward as I left the ring and now he was smiling. Really smiling. I sold my lamb that year for a whopping $1011 dollars. What a great memory with my dad.

You may have fallen asleep by now but I want to record one other memory from two years ago that was so meaningful to me. Our family had flown home to Idaho for the summer to visit and now it was time to return to New Hampshire. My dad had to leave early in the morning for an engagement so he came into the room where I was sleeping to say goodbye. I sat up groggily in bed and he hugged me and kissed me. Then he looked at my face and hugged and kissed me again. I found I couldn't go back to sleep after he left. I just laid there amazed that after all the years of successes and failures, of foolish mistakes and happy memories my dad STILL loved me very, very much. I was still his girl. What an incredible feeling it is to be loved so unconditionally.


In my family growing up we had a silly tradition of standing in the doorway and waving goodbye with a handkerchief (or if one of those couldn't be found, a dishcloth) in hand. I don't know when this started (perhaps with my sister, Renee) but it made all of us laugh and seemed to ease the pain of goodbye. In our little family here in New Hampshire we have carried on the tradition when friends and family have left after visits. Today as Jay drove away with my dad toward the airport the children and I stood at the door waving white kleenexes and I was struck suddenly thinking about another time when I stood waving a white handkerchief and rejoicing over the dedication of the Nauvoo temple. (For anyone reading who is a member of another faith I'll explain. At the completion of an LDS temple a special dedicatory celebration is held culminating in the joyful waving of white handkerchiefs.) On the day of the Nauvoo dedication I had a very personal and sacred witness of the eternal nature of families and I felt the interest of generations gone by in me, my life, and my family. I felt that same assurance again this morning as I watched my dad go down the driveway and out of sight. I was reminded that he is my dad forever, not just for today, and that gives me courage to let him go for now.

I love you very much, dad!