December 6, 2021 – Dad’s Girl

December 6, 2021

Dad’s Girl…

From the time I was born, my Dad could do no wrong. He died in June 1979, and yet I still remember the Joy of being Dad’s Girl.

He was a ‘git ‘er done’ type of guy.  Always with enthusiasm and gusto. A farmer’s son, who preached and farmed, Grandpa Jacob Siemens was often gone.  Dad practiced telling us Bible Stories on Saturday nights, he would teach on Sunday to his boy’s class.

Dad grew up on a farm with three brothers and one sister.  He learned to keep the truck and tractor running.  I loved to listen as my uncles and Dad told stories of growing up.  Much more fun than listening to my aunts.  The stories always ended with knee-slapping and laughter.

I loved when he took his Sunday School class on a picnic, roasting hot dogs.  Mom always baked a pan of gingerbread for the dessert…if there were pieces left, she put marshmallows on top, and toasted it in the oven the next day.  My favorite taste delight as a young girl

Dad planted a row of sunflowers along the back fence of our yard.  When they were ripe, he loved to crack the seeds with his teeth and spit out the hulls.  I always admired the way he could spit so accurately!

One day as he milked our pet goat, he asked if I would like some milk.  When I said yes, he had me bow down…and I did, expecting a sip of cold milk.  What a surprise as he squirted warm goat milk into my mouth.  He did love to tease!  I never watched again. Although the billy-goat became our pet.

    When we played in the yard during the summer, we were safe behind a picket fence.  Dad built a small roofed sandpile for my two brothers to play in.  He made a steering wheel he could spin, and we held tight to the straps, and then he swung us around.

The scripture I read later about how God ‘hems us in’ reminded me of the picket fence that kept us safe.

Later, after we moved, we often sat cross-legged in a family circle discussing family issues.  The one I remember was when we discussed whether our Dad could have a nickel to buy a coke at the hospital on hot days delivering mail.  The vote was a unanimous YES.

Dad walked 20 miles a day delivering mail…and learned to half-sole his shoes to make them last longer.  Then he delivered parcel post.  He let me ride along, sitting on the open side of the truck, and I watched as Dad made friends as he delivered mail, often signing his name with a flourish.  Just as he lived.  I will always remember my Dad with Joy and Gratitude!