From Where I Sit

By Pat Spilseth, Columnist

On Fathers’ Day we take time to remember and honor our dads, heroes to many girls. No matter if we grew up in the 50s, 80s, or recently in the 2020s, Dads make a huge impression on their kids. Most of us girls had great dads. He might be the silent type of man, not effusive with words of love or compliments, but we knew he’d stand up for us.

Many girls want to marry a man just like their dear dad. When my niece Taylor Amarando was married to Rachaud Hill at the historical Glen Sanders mansion on the Mohawk River in upstate New York, her daddy, Fast Eddie, as we affectionally call our super salesman brother-in-law,  was the ultimate wedding planner. As a result, Taylor’s wedding reflected Eddie’s New York-Italian style at the ceremony and reception.

This wasn’t a typical church wedding like we had in the 60s with church basement receptions which served mints, nuts and weak Lutheran coffee. This wedding featured six bridesmaids in champagne gowns and 4” heels who did not somberly step down the long aisle; they danced to a jazzy beat as they descended 27 steps down to the ceremony on the river bank. The groomsmen, so debonaire in their dove gray tuxes and rose boutonnières were dashing. The traditional wedding processional with music by Handel was not part of this wedding.

Taylor, who was adopted as a wee baby from Brazil, has always expressed abundant gratitude to her parents for adopting her. She knows she could have been in an orphanage for years in Brazil; instead, thankfully, she’s been able to enjoy life with family and friends in the United States. Once again she showed her deep appreciation for their love and caring at her wedding. In flamboyant style, she and her six dancing bridesmaids performed a choreographed, rhythmic dance routine to Mariah Carey’s song “Hero.” While Taylor, Eddie and Mom Barb hugged and danced together, other attendants held up large sparkling letters spelling HERO.

“And then a hero comes along

With the strength to carry on

And you cast your fears aside

And you know you can survive

So when you feel like hope is gone

Look inside you and be strong

And you’ll finally see the truth”

  

Like Taylor, many girls grow up idolizing their dads. I did. My dad was my hero. Memories of Dad as a quiet, powerful man still appear large in my mind. To me, Dad was the tall, handsome Marlboro Man at least 6’2” with wavy black hair and broad shoulders. Today, my son Andy reminds me of Dad. Both have the same muscular, thin legs, a slight stoop from being so tall, and can be rather quiet. No big talkers exist among the men in my family.

I hoped I’d marry a man just like my dad, strong and supportive. When I was growing up, my dad Hank DeKok was sheriff of Pope County in Glenwood, Minn. A serious man, Sheriff DeKok had a “don’t mess with me” attitude.  People didn’t fool with him. People listened. His presence, in the regulation tan and brown uniform, carried firm assurance and confidence that he would keep the community safe. A man of few words, Hank’s hazel eyes spoke volumes. Idle chatter wasn’t his thing; it annoyed him.

For many of us, our dads have been solid, strong men. Dads have expectations for kids, expecting them to succeed. I always wanted to “live up to those expectations.” Dad expected the BEST. He worked hard; he expected the same from his girls. Dad made me feel safe; he protected me. He provided for his family and stood up for them. Interesting, as I grew older, I learned how much he depended on Mom’s strength. Now I realize that strong men need strong women.    

My children’s father Dave has been a wonderful companion and cheerleader to his children. He enjoys tennis, boating and going to the movies or sports events with his kids; he could spend hours shooting hoops with Andy and biking with Kate. He attended all their sports games and music concerts if he wasn’t at his job flying airplanes. When he was home, Dave became the referee, settling arguments and solving problems. But when it came to talking about their troubles and hurt feelings, it was Mom’s turn.

It’s interesting how each kid in a family remembers their dad for different reasons.   

“It doesn’t matter who my father was,” Anne Sexton wrote, “It matters who I remember he was.”   

* * * * * * * *

To contact Pat, email: pat.spilseth@gmail.com.