10-4

02/16/1942 - 10/04/2012

The life my dad lived wasn’t measured in years.  Though his obituary lists his dates of birth and death, his life reaches beyond those 70 years.  I’m still finding moments of tears and frustration when I go to ask his advice or I’m reminded of him at random and he’s no longer here with us on this great big planet. 

He’s no longer here to crack funny jokes, or tell me I’m the sweetest, or to encourage me.  I had him in my life longer than I had my biological father.  He showed up when I was ten.  Proposed to my mom only after he asked our permission because he knew we were pretty protective of her.  He never stepped in my way of making mistakes, never caught me when I fell.  No, he wasn’t an enabler.  He was there to pick me up and dust me off.  He “told me so”, he told me why and why not, and he told me the truth. 

His jokes were never appropriate, but they sure made me laugh.  He had the brightest brown eyes that literally twinkled when he smiled, and though he was a big tall man his heart was even bigger.   He was patriotic and so proud of this country.  He never met a stranger, and he ALWAYS gave to others in need.  Many folks knew him as Santa, and he truly played the part.  We still have his suit to prove it. 

He was a barterer.  He traded a tank trailer (I think that’s what it was) for my first piano.  He knew my love for music, even though I learned by ear and never took it further than our living room foyer.  It’s one of the main reasons I love having a piano in my home today and likely always will.

He taught me to drive a manual shift on one of his big trucks, then helped me with my first car which was a 5-speed manual Subaru.  “Go do donuts, spin it out and learn how to handle it.” That’s what he told me to do at 15 years of age in the gravel lot of his trucking company.  I still drive a stick-shift today.  Oh, and I will never forget the day I ran my truck into the local sheriff’s mailbox.  Took it clean out of the ground with gravel flying everywhere, rutted the driveway and their yard, and left a trail of Nissan fender parts in their ditch.  It wasn’t my worst wreck, or last, but it was the one that brought my dad and I closer. 

He stood next to me staring at the chaos and said, “Sissi Worm (his nickname for me), you okay?” 

Me: “Yes sir.” 

Mr. Bob: “You’re telling your mom.” 

Me: *looking at my dad in panic* “You’re coming with me!”

Mr. Bob: “Maybe we’ll wait to tell her then…”

He understood my fear of not only disappointing my mom (AGAIN) with my driving, but figured being without my ride and pride was punishment enough for the moment.  We told her eventually.  Together, with my dad standing behind me (chicken), but we told her. 

He loved animals as much as I did and we often conspired to bring in strays when I worked at the vet clinic.  He surprised me one day at work with this ugly, dirty, beat up, short-legged, meat-head of a dog we named Dwayne McKenzie.  If you were a product of the 80’s then you know who Spud McKenzie was.  Well this dog was his redneck cousin.  This dog had a face like a road map and would’ve been put to sleep if it ended up in a shelter.  Instead, my dad convinced my mom to bring him to my work.  We cleaned him up, got him checked and cleared, and spent a fortune on heart worm treatment.  He was maybe 4-5 years old at the time and lived another 15.  Because of my dad this dusty old dog had a second life and was loved.  That’s what he did, he saw the best in other beings. 

I’m not even sorry to the rest of my siblings that moved on while I was the last to leave home, because I had the best years with him.  He just always made sure everything was okay. 

Now that life has gone on without him I find it ironic that he passed away on 10-4.  Those of you who know my profession and understand ten codes know what it stands for.  I woke up today not so 10-4 because of [insert every lame excuse here].  Then I looked at my calendar to check on a deadline and I saw what day it was.  10-4.  A constant reminder that even though we lost a huge part of our heart on this day years ago, everything is going to be okay. 

If any of you reading this are having a bad day, I hope you realize that everything really will be okay.  Maybe not like you want it to be, and certainly not without a lesson to learn from it, but have faith YOU WILL BE 10-4.