If you don’t know the legacy your parents will leave to you,
who will?
When my dad passed away in March 2017, I was reminded of a
conversation I had with a close friend about the legacies left to us by our
fathers. It wasn’t until after her father had passed that she figured the
legacy he had left her. I was fortunate enough to have already known my own
father’s legacy while he was still with us. I was aware of it my entire life – to
live life simply.
My father’s personality resembled that of a flatline on an
electrocardiogram, but with a bump here and there to suggest he’s still
breathing. He was never interested in being the center of attention (except
when he was in a rock & roll band and I don’t think it was a big deal to
him then); he was soft-spoken and movement from Point A to Point B were about as
fast as a koala bear. When he said something, you listened because it was
either profound or humorous. When he laughed you knew he was truly amused. He rarely
smiled in family pictures and when he did, someone was bound to utter the
proverbial, “Look, Jimmy’s smiling!” comment. If there was a family crisis –
bills, home or car repairs, or some teenage dilemma my brother and I faced – he
never got overly excited about it. He addressed it calmly, few words, mind you,
and that was that. He never got worked up over “little things” because he was
too busy living life simply.
Dad lived much of his early childhood during the Depression
and World War II when money was in short supply and emphasis was placed on the
very basic necessities of life. He wasn’t materialistic – beyond what he needed
to get through the average day and to supplement the hobbies he enjoyed. When
we’d leave on a week-long fishing or hunting trip, his suitcase was not much
bigger than a gym bag. 90% of the clothes we’d get him for Christmas or his
birthday he barely wore. Same five shirts and same couple of pants. We’d kid
him that everything he deemed valuable could fit neatly into the jewelry box he
kept on top of his dresser. You see – he wasn’t like my mother or my brother
and I. We would rummage, go to flea markets and antique stores, collect stuff and
“pick” whatever we could wherever we could. None of that was part of Dad’s living
life simply equation. When he saw how I decorated my living room after I
moved back to Wisconsin from California, his eyes scanned the room for a few
seconds and then he flailed his arms at his side and yelled, “God you got a lot
of crap in here!” Which was unusual for my father because he never yelled much
and his big gestures were pretty much confined to walking back and forth to bed
as sleeping was an art form he perfected.
Dad’s approach to life – to live life simply – doesn’t
work for everyone, but it served him well. No excitement. No stress. That’s the
way he conducted his entire life and any departure from that norm would have sent
up red flags for anyone who knew him. Most importantly, he was always there for
us whenever we needed him to be. He never demanded much for himself and only
demanded of us that we do our best in any endeavor we chose. My brother and I
share similar qualities but nowhere near the likes of my father. He was the
King, and of all my dad’s traits, it’s the one I value and admire most.
They say you should take time to smell the roses. My father
smelled the roses every day by living life simply and it made us all
smile. And deep down, I’m quite sure he was smiling as well.
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