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.
