Antiquarian Anabaptist

Apologetics from an Anabaptist perspective

Tag Archives: relationships

The Day I Had to Bully My Father

Two years later we had a very dry summer. About the only things that flourished were the Russian thistles. Then they would dry up, break off at ground level and blow across the prairie landscape. Often they would collect in great masses along fence lines, becoming fire hazards. Dad liked to collect them in a pile and burn them.

One day in late summer, Dad came into the house with a big hole burned in the back of his coveralls and the shirt beneath. He told me to go across the dam and see if he had got the fire completely out. I saw that his Russian Thistle fire had gotten away on him. There was a large blackened area in the grass and here and there small flames still flickering. When I was sure had stamped them all out I returned to the house.

Dad’s back was badly burned; Mom and I knew he had to go to the hospital. He refused. “Who will milk the cows? Who will do my janitor chores?”

I told him I would do all that, but still he refused. Finally I raised my voice to a bellow and manhandled my father out to the truck and drove him to the hospital. Mom had called Doctor McCaw and he was there to admit Dad and take charge.

The chores at home I knew how to do. The responsibilities of the hospital janitor I did not know. But those were simpler times. It helped that my cousin Ron was on the hospital board and the hospital matron, in charge of housekeeping, was Barb Hunter, a friend of the family from Mossbank days. With Barb coaching me I tried to do everything that Dad had done. I stopped in to see him each day and to see how his back was healing. I think Dad spent ten days in the hospital. His work got done and he got his full pay cheque.

At home I fed the chickens, gathered the eggs and milked the cows morning and evening. I cranked out the cream on the cream separator and did all the chores that needed doing. As far as I can remember Dad never did say thank you, but I think knowing that I had taken care of things eased some of the tension between us.

[This is part of chapter 10 of my memoir. I have done a thorough re-write and rearranging of the material I have previously posted and am ready to start on the next section)

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Lonely people

We had dinner the other day with a man, his newest girlfriend, his mother and his youngest son. This man works hard, is very well paid, and is using his money to try to fix his broken relationships.

When he was a young man he married and two sons were born to him. He and his wife split up, largely because she was afraid of him. She had another off and on boyfriend, then one day she was murdered and the killer took the two boys, without coats, boots or mittens and dumped them in a field on a cold winter night. I don’t know all the story, but it seems likely the killer was her new boyfriend.

The boys were raised by the mother’s family. The father was young, afraid, broke, without a job, didn’t know what to do. He tries to make up for it now, he’s generous with his money, but still kind of clueless about relationships.

The youngest boy has no fingers – there are thumbs on both hands, but no fingers. They froze that night he was dumped in the field and had to be amputated. He was a year and a half old. He is a big young man, polite and friendly, but appears to have other problems that make him unable to work. It is surprising what he can do with his maimed hands. He lives alone, takes his medications and spends a lot of time playing video games.  He seems to get along well with his dad when they are together.

The dad has had a string of girlfriends but no relationship has lasted very long. He has a very iffy relationship with his brother and none of his sisters will speak to him. He’s getting older and is beginning to worry that he won’t have any family or friends when the money runs out.

There are a lot of lonely people in our world. It’s their own fault, the result of choices they have made. But I wonder – do they even know that there were, and are, other choices open to them?

Some folks will tell them that they need to get right with Jesus, turn their lives around and start walking on the road that leads to heaven. That’s the right advice, but so often it seems that the ones giving that advice aren’t walking that road themselves. Most of them certainly don’t have time to be a friend to the friendless. I am beginning to wonder, is there any other way to be an ambassador for Christ?

The breaking point

Dad and I had never been close; fear of his impatience and anger made me keep a safe distance. As I grew up the gulf between us widened and neither of us knew how to bridge it.

One Sunday in June of 1959 we were on our way home from church. I was driving, Mom was on the passenger side and Dad between us. Dad began berating me about some little thing that grew bigger and bigger as he spoke. His voice grew louder and his hands waved in agitation. Suddenly he was trying to wrest control of the steering wheel away from me. Then we were driving in the ditch, Dad shouting in incoherent rage. I broke his grip, pushed him away from the wheel, steered the truck back onto the highway and made it the rest of the way home.

Dad continued his tirade as we walked into the house. In the kitchen he grabbed a piece of firewood and began shouting that he was going to teach me a lesson I wouldn’t forget. A series of thoughts flashed through my mind: “I am 17, Dad is 67; I am as big as he is; I am as strong as he is; I can yell as loud as he can.” I reached down and picked up another piece of firewood, brandished it at him and bellowed back “I dare you to try it.”

Dad’s arm slowly went down, he put the wood back in the box beside the stove. “Next time I will teach you the lesson you need to learn.” I put my piece of wood back and went for a walk.

When I came back into the house Mom had dinner on the table and we all sat down. Dad said a prayer and we ate in strained silence.

I never knew what would trigger Dad’s anger and I doubt he did either. This was the first time he had completely lost control of himself and become violent. When I stood up to him, we knew we had each crossed a line and our relationship would never be the same.

My father was not an evil man. He meant well, but by the time his only child came along when he was 50 he didn’t have a clue how to teach me to be the son he wanted. All I ever wanted was a Dad who would love me and let me talk to him without fear.

Moving on, or pressing on

I really thought that spring would be here in just a day or two. The sun shone warmly on Saturday, the few patches of snow left were becoming smaller and smaller, we heard of birds coming back to a place just a few hours south of us.

Alas, it was but a dream. We awoke Sunday to a thick covering of fresh snow and rapidly cooling temperatures. Today the wind is blowing fiercely, cleaning the snow from open places and packing it into firm drifts in other places. The forecast doesn’t offer any hope of warmer weather until the 21st when spring officially begins.

No wonder the Romans named this month after Mars, their god of war. Many of the worst blizzards I have experienced arrived without warning during this month.

Wouldn’t it be better to live in a part of the world that never has winter? That sounds like a good idea on days like today. But – I have visited Arkansas and Mississippi at the end of March, when the weather was beautiful and I don’t know how I could survive a summer in those places. Besides, winter provides us with an all natural, ecologically safe barrier to things like fire ants, brown recluse spiders, Burmese pythons and other such creatures. Tornado season here is much shorter and less destructive.

I could go on, but you get the picture. I am accustomed to the hazards of living in this climate and know how to cope with the unpleasant aspects of it. If I moved somewhere else to avoid those issues, would I know how to cope with unfamiliar and unexpected aspects of the new locale?

A Saskatchewan politician visiting in British Columbia once said “A lot of Saskatchewan people move to B.C. because of the climate. Most of them move back because of the weather.” My father-in-law was one. He got so depressed by week after week of clouds, rain, and no sunshine in B.C. that he came back to Saskatchewan.

I think that applies to other aspects of our life. Someone grows frustrated in his job, his marriage, his church, the place he lives, and thinks a change will make things better. (I used the masculine pronouns because that is what I am and what I am most familiar with, not to imply that persons on the feminine side may not have the same temptations.) Most often the result is not what was anticipated.

Often a person will explain the change in one of these relationships by his need to get away from persons who are causing him trouble. Oddly enough, the same kind of persons, causing the same problems, are usually found in the next job, church, town, or marriage. And the next one after that.

If we take an honest look at ourselves, we are apt to find we have a full time job looking after the troubles caused by our own attitudes and actions. If we occupy ourselves with that, we will usually be quite content to stay where we are.

Sometimes there are legitimate reasons to move on, other than discontent with the people we have to do with. My wife and I tried out a number of churches years ago. We met a lot of fine people, but not the spiritual fellowship that we longed for. We have belonged to the Church of God in Christ, Mennonite for 37 years now. That doesn’t mean we have found nicer people, or better people, it just means that we are content that we are where God wants us to be.

Here in the Swanson congregation we have been trying for over a year to decide what to do about our aging church building. Such a situation provides endless possibilities for conflict. But it also creates possibilities for confession and apology when attitudes and words have been uncharitable. It feels like this process is drawing us closer together.

Cat oneupmanship

We moved to this acreage almost 8 years ago, just us two old folks and one cat. There is a farm yard right beside our yard with a heavy stand of trees between us. Panda was basically an indoor cat, but one evening she decided to explore the great outdoors.

The sun set, our bed seemed pretty inviting after a day of unpacking and arranging furniture, dishes, books, clothing, but Panda had not come home. We called, no response. We set out with flashlights to search for her. We walked around the back yard, the woods, searching and calling. Nothing. We gave up and walked back to the house, thinking dark thoughts. We came around to the front of the house and there on the front step was Panda, calmly stretched out and looking at us as if to say: “Where have you guys been? I’ve been waiting for you.”

We recently made a trip to Montréal and asked our daughter to care for our cats, there are now three of them. When we returned home Tuesday, she reported that she had seen the middle cat, Angus, only once. Panda and Pookie were happy to see us and we expected Angus would hear that we were home and make his appearance. When he didn’t, my wife went next door (the neighbours are away now) and soon found him. He was overjoyed to see us and spent the next 24 hours anxiously checking on us to see that we weren’t going to abandon him again.

Pookie went out that evening and didn’t come back. When he still hadn’t shown up yesterday evening after I got back from the city, we took our flashlights and went looking. We checked around all the many buildings of the farm yard, thinking he might have accidentally been shut in one of them. There was neither sight nor sound to indicate he was anywhere around.

Once again thinking dark thoughts, punctuated by the howling of coyotes not far away, we trudged homeward. As we walked down our lane and got near the house Pookie came trotting out to welcome us home. Why do cats have this infuriating habit of outsmarting us?

I admit it, we are quite attached to our cats, and they to us. I think this is quite normal, not everyone agrees. I believe that people who are patient and kind with animals are more apt to be patient and kind with people, too. And people who are indifferent and even cruel to animals are apt to be that way to people. What are your thoughts? Agree or disagree?  (There are, of course, a few individuals with an emotional imbalance that hinders them from having a real relationship with other people and who try to fill that void with their pets, I’m not thinking of that sort of extreme.)

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