Happy Father's Day

Because of my joining the Dayley family at just barely 16, this man,Ardell Dayley, played a huge fathering role in my life, teaching by example, commitment to family, hard work, perseverance, love, humility, and honesty. This is one of my favorite photos of my father-in-law, taken in the four- acre family owned Christmas tree farm that was behind our house in Martinez, California, because this is so typical of how I remember him. The tree farm was a great place for the kids to play, for parents to hide from their kids (which we did on occasion so we could talk with some privacy), and the opportunity for us to spend precious time with Mother and Dad every fall and winter for eight years when they came from Idaho and parked their travel trailer to run the farm. Even though Larry and Dan did a lot of work on the farm year-around, it would not have survived the way it did without Dad's hard and consistent work during the farm's busiest season.

Most of my earlier Idaho memories of Dad find him working in the long vegetable garden, monitoring canal water wearing tall rubber boots and carrying a shovel, mowing the big lawn, or walking the rest of the property checking for trouble in the way of gopher holes a horse might step into, fences that needed repair, or an alfalfa field ready for harvest. Later, after retirement (What's that?), Dad maintained that same kind of work ethic on the tree farm in California, constantly trimming trees, checking for disease, cutting out trees that might infect other ones, checking the fence for holes where a few dishonest broke through at night to steal their trees, and repairing the gravel parking lot when ruts developed. He was a man who loathed idleness, not in a preachy way, but as a matter of personality. Dad sat down for only six things I can think of: eating a good meal, attending a church meeting, watching a football game, visiting with a family member, reading (he loved National Geographic, Readers' Digest, The Book of Mormon, and the local newspaper), or resting in the big recliner after a hard day's work. Simply put, Dad was a man who got the job done. I've witnessed that principle at work in Dad's posterity--something they learned from example and can be proud to claim as a legacy of his. Happy Father's Day Dad! We miss you!

Resting and visiting with family. It must have been a Sunday, or we were a group too large for the little tv room, because this photo was taken in Mother and Dad's beautiful and spacious but not often used living room. Mother loved the big picture window that Dad put in when he built the house, and just recently I learned that Mother always insisted on living in a house that faced the mountains. She wanted that and Dad always saw to it, even in the smaller homes he built for them when they were younger.


A picture of my dad at about age 40. I don't have a lot of memories of my own father, something that went missing a long time ago. But I do know that my father was a good and gentle man who loved God and his five children and actively practiced his Christian faith. I can't remember a spanking or even a scolding from him ever. He was brilliant also, his IQ testing reported to have been extremely high. He was in the CIC during his time in the army and passed the CPA exam later in life. My father came from a long line of musicians, men and women who worked more with their minds and less with their hands. Dad was the youngest of four children and his first nieces tell stories of his being their favorite uncle. Dad played the piano, and my mother said, "Your daddy could play a mean saxaphone!" In fact, my parents met during a musical event in which he played the sax and she played the piano. Mom said she wasn't impressed at first because he was a bit cocky, but that disappeared immediately when he discovered that Mom wasn't impressed by that. Dad's siblings and cousin who still live in Memphis speak of my father as a man with great love for family and one who loved to laugh. I look forward to hearing the sound of that some day.

My earliest memory isn't really mine, but my mother has told me the story so often that I can almost remember. She says that when I was born (the third of five children) Dad liked to hold me by cradling my head in the palm of his hand, and my feet resting against the crook of his arm. He thought I was sweet and beautiful and practiced holding me that way until I grew too big. I imagine he must have smiled into my face as well, because I've always known that my father loved me.

One of my favorite memories is our regular trips to Howard Johnson's restaurant every weekend after my parents divorced. We always ate pancakes or waffles, and bacon, and on the way home, Dad made sure to drive us past Graceland for a possible glimpse of Elvis Presley. Dad always slowed the Chevrolet way down and we craned our necks as far and long as we could.

It was a sad day for all of us when we moved away from Memphis in 1969. My father died of cancer in 1972 when he was almost 44 and I was almost 14. Our birthdays are two days apart.