My dad’s 83rd birthday is today!
In his honor, I’m sharing a few stories that show what makes him special to me, stories that highlight his dedication to family, stories that reveal his love of the outdoors, stories that are an integral part of who Dad is.
Dad remembers having a good life as a child, and describes his parents as “the best” even though he complained every week when he had to mow the grass. His dad taught him his work ethic, how to fish, and how to build and repair just about everything. His mom taught him life lessons on their walk to church and he loved her cooking, especially her chocolate chip cookies. She’s the only one who ever called him Butch, and he suspected it was an old boyfriend’s name, but his mom never confirmed that.
He only remembers a little bit about his paternal grandparents. His grandfather, Edward, was a farmer but also worked for the railroad. Grandpa Ed loved beer, cigarettes, and arguing. His grandmother, Etta, always had peppermint Life Savers and she always shared!
Dad remembers more about his maternal grandparents. They owned a farm nearby and Dad loved spending time there. His grandmother, Minnie, made two loaves of white bread every day and her house always smelled like a bake shop. She often asked Dad to pick apples off the ground for making pie, warning him not to climb the apple tree, but of course he always did.
His grandfather, John, was a farmer, fireman and a town clerk. Dad got his love of hunting and the great outdoors from him. Grandpa John was always good for a wheelbarrow ride, but used the same wheelbarrow that he hauled cattle manure in! He was also the source of the, “Dog named Jack,”poem that Dad told to all six of his grandchildren as soon as they were old enough. Dad’s first great-grandchild, Munchkin, will be next when he’s a little older.
Despite fond memories of childhood, Dad remembers being the “colorful character” in the family. He claims he was smiling in this photo because he had just received his first pair of OshKosh B’Gosh bib overalls - something every farmer and farm kid wore in Wisconsin in the 1940s. But seeing the grin on his face, I’d say he looks like a bit of a trouble-maker!
Once, his mother caught him eating cherry tomatoes out of the neighbor’s garden. She took him home and made him eat 4 large tomatoes until he felt sick. He never stole tomatoes again, and couldn’t eat large ones for years.
When Dad was just 4 years old(!), his parents bought a new house. One day, prior to moving in, his dad was going over to the new house and my dad wanted to go along. His father told him no, but Dad decided to go on his own. He thought he knew where the new house was, so he rode his scooter two miles along busy streets and across railroad tracks to get there. He was very proud of himself when he found the new house, but then a feeling of dread came over him. He hid underneath the front porch with his scooter, but his father soon found him there and was not impressed.
Dad remembers spending the rest of that day standing in the southwest corner of the dining room of the new house, facing the wall. It was the first day he spent in that corner, but not the last - including the time he hit a baseball through the neighbor’s bedroom window and the time he cut up his mom’s butter knives in a failed attempt to make throwing knives.
Dad’s been interested in genealogy for many years. He has an extensive “Family Tree” chart, along with photos and other information he’s been able to collect about his ancestors. This is a photo of his paternal great-grandfather, who sailed from Germany to the U.S. in 1882 and was processed through Ellis Island in New York. When I look at this photo, I can see my dad’s face. Unfortunately, Henry died 7 months before Dad was born.
Dad is a lifelong reader, and passed that on to me. He is also a great gardener, carpenter, and landscaper. He built our garage back in Wisconsin and landscaped the back yard with a garden, including tomatoes! He also built tall privacy fences, a porch swing, and a fire pit. I have many happy memories of sitting in that back yard with friends and family: talking, laughing, and getting eaten by mosquitoes.
Dad is also a lifelong fan of the Green Bay Packers. I remember going to games in Green Bay with Dad and sitting on the cold, hard, aluminum bleachers in all types of weather, but feeling lucky to be there. The sound of NFL football on TV still takes me back to my childhood. The only time I’ve ever seen my dad cry was when the Packers beat the New England Patriots in the 1996 Super Bowl!
The Packers are the only NFL team that is publicly owned. There have been six stock sales over the years, with the last one being in 2021. That coincided nicely with Dad’s 80th birthday, so my siblings and I bought Dad one share of Packer’s stock. He is proud to call himself an owner!
During my childhood in Wisconsin, Dad was an avid hunter. He hunted deer, bear, and small game such as rabbits, squirrels, pheasants and ducks. His friend Ron had a cottage in Townsend where Dad and a group of about 8 friends stayed when they hunted east of Lakewood. I remember that I liked the venison Mom cooked when Dad came home with a deer. Mom remembers the time that her brother and Dad came home from hunting, left several dead squirrels in the kitchen sink, and went out to the tavern for a beer. When they came home, the squirrels were out on the lawn!
In 1971, Dad made a hunting trip to Montana. I remember it being a big deal that Dad was able to go and he was excited. He went with his best friend, Dick, and several other friends, many of whom had hunted in Montana the year before when every one of them came home with a deer. Unfortunately for Dad, the weather was bad the year he went and they came home with only 2 deer for 6 guys.
One of my earliest memories in life happened when I was 5. My parents were renting the upstairs of a farmhouse, and there was a huge Maple tree outside my bedroom window. I have a vivid memory of waking up one morning and looking out my bedroom window to see a black bear hanging in my tree!
Dad worked at the same paper mill in Wisconsin for over 30 years. When my parents were newly married and had 3 kids within 4 years, Dad worked all the time. He worked shift work and often had to stay for a second 8 hour shift in the same day if his partner was out sick or on vacation. Dad started off his career in 1962 as a sheeter-loader but went to school for 5 years, along with working those crazy shifts, and in 1978 he became an electrician. He still has all his certificates from school and an 8x10 booklet from 1967 with photographs of all the paper mill employees that year. There are action photos of Dad at work on several pages.
This is the building Dad worked in for most of those years. He remembers that at Christmas time every year, there was a huge Christmas tree set up in the corner there. One year, he had to climb scaffolding to put the star on the tree and it scared him so bad he never did it again.
Most years when I was growing up, for Dad’s birthday and Father’s Day, which are only days apart, we went to Brick’s Club 47 in Black Creek (pronounced “Crick”) for his favorite meal, tenderloin steak. It wasn’t just any tenderloin! It was the biggest, tastiest, and cheapest tenderloin around. The steaks were 10-12 ounces each and came with a baked potato or french fries, a small salad in a bamboo bowl, and the best rye bread ever. Dad thinks the entire meal cost $3.50. Mom thinks it was $6. But they both remember that Dad ate two steaks one year! I remember it took us about half an hour to get there, which felt like forever to a kid. I also remember that the dining room was very dark and that Dad ate his steak rare. Dad remembers stopping there for steak sometimes with Dick on their way home from hunting.
We used to go camping nearly every weekend in the summer, mostly in the central and northern parts of Wisconsin. At first, we camped out of our brand-new forest green Chevy window van complete with sliding side door. Dad built a platform for the back that rested on the edges of the side windows but also was chained to the ceiling. Us kids slept on top and Mom and Dad slept below.
We often got to take turns bringing a friend along when we camped, but I don’t remember where they slept. And we usually made friends with other kids in the campground. I remember one particular incident when I found a friend, who just happened to be a boy, and went walking around the campground with him one evening. Unfortunately, I must have been away from the campsite too long, because I remember Dad driving around the campground, calling my name through the van’s PA system. I don’t remember if I had to stand in a corner for a day when we got home, but Dad was not a happy camper!
When we got a little older, our parents bought a camping trailer and parked it year-round at Lake of the Woods Campground in Wautoma. We camped there in the summer, but also went up in the winter for cross-country skiing. My grandparents, aunts and uncles, and friends often came up when we were there, and we always had hamburgers, hot dogs, camp potatoes, and toasted marshmallows or s’mores over the campfire in the evenings.
But one of the best parts of camping, no matter where we were, was that Dad told stories around the campfire and when we were falling asleep at night. One year, he told a story that he made up and it was such a hit that it’s become a family tradition for him to repeat it to this day to every newcomer to our family - every friend, husband, wife, and grandchild eventually gets to hear, “Purple Fantasy.”
As an adult, I have been grateful to Dad for working, holding down the fort and taking care of the cats so that Mom could come to Arizona to help when my husband had health issues. I’m also thankful for all the things he taught our boys and the things he built for them. I have many wonderful memories of camping and hiking around Arizona, Colorado, and Utah with Dad, and of watching him play with and read to his grandkids.
I’m looking forward to spending more time with Dad learning about our family tree and hearing more of his stories about himself and his ancestors. I’m sure I’ll be writing about those stories someday, including the infamous, “Purple Fantasy,” story!
But for today…
Happy 83rd Birthday, Dad!
❤️🎂🥳❤️🔨🎈❤️🎂🥳❤️🔧🎈❤️
I’d love to hear your thoughts! Tell us what’s special about your Dad! What’s your favorite story about your Dad from his childhood? From your childhood? Once you were an adult?
A big Happy Birthday to your Dad from another Dad, Grandpa, Poppa. who is just ahead of him with # 87 next week, June 24. If he were here or I were there, we could share some good stories of our growing up, he in Wisconsin, me in Ohio around the same time and conditions. Thanks for sharing stories of a special guy.
So fun to hear your positive story. Didn't think I'd read hunting stories on Substack.
Hope your father and others like him are around for many more years!