My Father and Me

My earliest recollection of my father is when Christmas would be only a few days or a week away, he would take us little ones on his knees and sing “Silent Night”. Of course he sang it in German as “Stille Nacht”. Then one of us would ask him how many nights until Christmas. It was an expression of love to us to teach us one of his many songs that he loved and wanted us to know. It is not hard to imagine sitting there perhaps as a 2-3 year old, nestled in his arms as he sang to us. Actually I don’t remember his voice as much as the fact that we would slightly excitedly always ask him how long until the Day.

He was enthused about his children, picking them up and sometimes in a high pitched voice call us “lieb kindly”, translated loosely as “beloved child.” From our earliest days, we were important to him and he enjoyed being with us when the day’s work was done, or even when he came in for dinner, or even when we would go out where he was working. I have more feelings about those encounters then actual incidences that come to my mind. It seems he would always talk to us, although he would also be in deep meditation or rehearsing some relationship with some else and talking to himself barely audibly. He was a sociable person, not content to just be tight lipped. He was communicating whether the person spoken to was there or not. Sometimes we would ask him what he said. He was probably surprised and wondering what we had heard.

Occasionally I made the trip to town with him to do some shopping for groceries or what ever else we needed. Our horse Bobby was never in a hurry and would take about an hour to travel the 7 miles to town. As Dad would go from store to store, I would try to keep up with him. I don’t know if he was always in a hurry, but he knew where he was going and wanted to get his business done. He told me some of his business, like going from one grocery store to another because he knew the price of what he frequently bought, literally saving a penny here and there. He knew the value of a few cents. I suppose that thriftiness bid me well when I was in college twenty years later and had my own sense of economy on what was affordable and where I should buy my things.

I was also with Dad many times when he wanted us to help him on the farm. I suppose he both wanted train us and to have our help. I would drive the horses when we put in hay as the loader brought the hay up behind the wagon and he or a brother would load the wagon to get the most on without loosing any on the way to the barn. Later I could do that job of placing the loose hay around the wagon until we had a high load. Dad also wanted us around when he “made fence”, either a new fence, or repairing where the cattle had weakened it. He taught me to use a post hole digger, and to sight up posts in a straight row.

I remember once as we were working on a fence in the lane near the barn, he was teaching me a Bible verse, word by word, having one finger designated for each word- five in the first phrase; German words I can still repeat 65+ years later. Only years later did I learn where we find it or what it meant. Scripture was important to him and he wanted us to know Scripture. He probably helped us memorize verses for Sunday School

also although I don’t recall just what they were. He read to the family a chapter of the New Testament every morning and every evening, and then led in a prayer as we knelt down as a family. Rarely did we go off to bed before he would lead us in this devotional. He cared for our Spiritual discipline in Scripture and prayer, setting an example for us as Mom would help keep it orderly, which was not usually a problem. We realized it was a normal part of our daily life. He did not explain Scripture; he just read it, usually. He did not teach us to pray; he was just an example. It was something he believed in even though it must have taxed him after a day’s work and just before bed. But he never forgot, nor excused himself. Even when we came home from Bible study on Wednesday evenings we knelt to pray, perhaps skipping the reading; after all we had been to Bible study.

It is hard to pinpoint his ideas on the discipline of children. He assumed obedience, but it seems not to have been authoritarian or rigid. I can’t remember threats from him though it may have happened on occasion. Probably I did not often challenge his requests to do something. Certainly he spanked us sometimes, but I can really remember only once. It was when I was in the seventh grade; coming home from school one afternoon, they were nailing together curved rafters for a new shed. I was to help nail. It was not easy to nail those boards which were springy as we bent them to a curve. Probably I was grumbling about the difficulty of the job for me. Perhaps he was frustrated with whatever, or with my grumbling. I just remember he suddenly picked up some kind of whip and whipped me well. But I don’t recollect arbitrariness that we had to obey under the fear of discipline. He was usually rather easy-going and gentle, assuming we would comply.

It is likely a common phenomenon of memory that we remember the pleasant over the unpleasant, except when the negative was especially strong. So in these recollections I recall primarily my good relationships with my father rather than the bad times. It does seem however that my teen years coincided with the most stressful time of Dad’s life and my memories of kind relations are a bit dimmer than of earlier experiences. I sometimes did not feel affirmation when I needed it. The theme of church denomination is one which we differed and it is interesting how this was handled.

When I was 15 or 16, my close friend Vernon was planning to join the Conservative Mennonite Church. Not happy to join the Amish church of which both our parents were members, I agreed to join with him. I only told the family shortly before the first day of instruction in that church. My Dad was very surprised and disappointed. I don’t remember him disparaging that church and the only question I remember him using to dissuade me was, “Isn’t our church and the church of our forefathers good enough for you?” I don’t believe he threatened me in any way but strongly urged me not to go forward that way. It was not a long drawn out discussion and I doubt I argued much. I don’t think he ordered me not to. I don’t know what he would have done if I went ahead anyway. It was just not possible for me to go against his strong wishes.

I remember one time I challenged him on his reactions to my mother, apparently making some painful comments to her. I suggested an apology, something rare for me to suggest to him and equally rare for him to do explicitly. He responded that he expected she would know his change of heart by his actions. It was hard for him to express some feelings explicitly. In my teen years, I recall also standing at their bedroom door one late evening and telling my parents I wish I knew that they loved me. Again, they thought I would know by their actions rather than words.

Some months around the above incident, there was a time for instruction in Dad’s church of which he was bishop. I hesitated knowing that at baptism, the request is made to promise never to leave the church, meaning the Amish Church. I told Dad I was not happy to make that promise, feeling as I did about the Amish Church. He assured me that that promise should really mean a commitment to the church of Christ, not the denomination. With that understanding, I accepted baptism. It was a time of renewal in the church when regulations were shifting and I did my best to help along in changes. Once I asked him what I should say when my co-workers in the factory asked me why we wear beards. He half humorously said that those kinds of things are not at the heart of our beliefs. Later when I was away from the church in voluntary service, and did not wear the prescribed beard, he again in a humorous way would ask me if nothing grows on my chin, or something to that effect. It is hard to know whether he was not too serious about the rules he held up n the church, or whether he was just being kind to me his son. After we left the denomination about 12 years after baptism, it seems we just politely didn’t cross paths for what now seems an incredible length of time, about 6 months When he did come to our house after that, he asked rather shyly with a teasing smile, “Are you still my son?” He did not rebuke me nor do I ever remember that he expressed disappointment of our leaving. Certainly his relationship with that church was rather strained then and may have contributed to his accepting our leaving. But it was never a denominational thing that came between us that I can remember. He respected me and accepted me, trusting me to leave the path he had participated in all his life and walk responsibly in my chosen path.

Sometimes Dad confided to me things in his heart and memory that he could have kept to himself; that Mom had some preference for a girl when I was born; that he had convictions for overseas mission work before marriage, but it was too big a hurdle to perhaps need to leave the Amish church and attend to college; and Mom’s anxiety at some time later, perhaps at the pending birth of a child, the feeling that they had to go to the mission field. He just wanted to spill some secrets even as I find myself doing at times. To these deep feelings I was sometimes the confident.

In the 60’s there was an ordination for the ministry at our church. When I was not even a nominee among 7 others, he comforted me that perhaps those who voted for the successful candidate would likely have voted for me. He also gave be a beautiful affirmation of my sense of call. “I would like nothing more than that you would enter the Christian ministry”, he confided, something most unorthodox for an Amishman to say.

I remember his sadness when we left for Belize in 1986 and in subsequent times. He seemed always conscious that we might not meet again, though it was never expressed openly that I recall. I suppose there was usually a little hug and kiss as had been the practice whenever we parted in younger years. He was always telling stories of bygone days when we were back for vacations. Even after his stroke which hindered his short term memory, he would recall many things of bygone days. Especially interesting to us was his courtship with several women after my mother died. He was so candid and detailed I just had to record some of that at times.

One memory of some sadness remains for me. After he had the stroke and at times was not so rational, he stayed with us for a week one summer as we stayed on Marion Street in Elkhart. At first he did not want to go into the house with us but stayed in the car and on the sidewalk. But when a black man came along, he was persuaded to come in. Most of the time he was rational but rather glum, like we were holding him captive against his will. At one time he said very unkind words about me about how bad I was. I didn’t take it too personal as I understood his mental state. But it was sad because he was my Dad and he did not feel good toward me. His last years were marked by some depression, I believe, as he increasingly had to be dependent on his children and was loosing control of his life. He outlived his better days by a few years. One worker at the home where he spent his last weeks remarked, “That was not the Elam that I knew.” Nor the Dad I once had.

Many times in my memory from my childhood to his old age, it seems Dad treated me like I was special. Not that I was more special than my siblings, but that I was someone he cared about and gave particular attention to. He enjoyed me when I was a child. He lead me the best he could in my growing up years. He respected me above tradition in my mature years. It was not hard to forgive him in his fading years and accountability. In his negative comments on Marion Street, I assured him he was not responsible for his remarks. He insisted he was, to me only proving my point. Dad is now gone 23 years, but his memory will live in my mind as long as I have it. My life no doubt is a fulfillment of some of his dreams to serve the Lord locally or abroad, without the necessity of providing for himself as he sometimes lamented, detracting from ministry. Yes, Thank you Lord for the Dad that brought me into the world, led me, and showed me the way I should go. May I always pursue the path he set before me.