Tribute by Pauline Davis

As I read the tributes to Dad my other siblings have shared, I have identified with many of the stories: the sights and smells of the camper-building project, the many marathon family trips across country, Dad’s “making a joyful noise” in church. I certainly share in the residual effects of Dad’s Life Lessons: his can-do drive and his perseverance. I would not have been able to go back to graduate school in my mid-forties without his example of determination to follow a dream.

My favorite memories of Dad center on his “softer side”. In with the true grit and Midwestern stubborn streak, he had many tender qualities. He was gentle with animals, spoiling many of his house pets with treats or people food (like the infamous oyster stew and a certain white cat), and grieving when animals died. He was a man not afraid to cry at touching stories or songs. One would see Dad’s face light up as he held a new grandchild, delighting in being able to soothe the fussiest infant with his expert touch. A very early childhood memory is of Dad dashing back and forth from the car to carry us kids through the torrential rains of an Iowa thunderstorm into a church meeting. He became thoroughly soaked, even as he used his own coat to protect us from the elements. Many times as I heard the song "No Never Alone", with the line about the lightning flashing, I remembered being carried by Dad through the storm.

Dad had a talent for cooking that may have also seemed incongruent with his tough-guy mechanic persona. Those calloused hands could whip up delicious dishes. Many people were treated at potlucks and family reunions to his legendary baked beans, blue-ribbon pickles, and homemade peach ice cream. I remember Sunday night suppers, when Mom had the evening off from cooking for the brood, and Dad would make mammoth pizzas or chocolate pudding cake, his specialty. Last month, I baked chocolate pudding cake in his memory for my three grandsons, sharing the treat with the next generation. I also remember the delight Dad showed in photographing family and special occasions, commemorating birthdays, holidays, and weddings. I was fascinated by his hobby of developing photos in his darkroom, in the house on 11th Avenue. Several of my siblings have taken up the photography bug. Grammon birthdays were always special events, with Dad immortalizing in pictures or slides the home-decorated cakes Mom made. Once, the seven kids were even awakened in the middle of the night for a belated birthday celebration after Dad had returned from an emergency truck repair. I also recall the beautiful cards Dad gave Mom for her birthday, Mothers Day, and Valentines Day, a touching testament to his love for her.

Another facet of Dad’s personality was his lifelong zest for learning. His command of the English language, numbers, and facts served him well in the many years of Scrabble, Trivial Pursuit, and Dictionary games. Sadly, as Dad’s health deteriorated, this was also where it began manifesting. Until his last year, he could talk with anyone about just about anything. Last week as I relaxed in the hot tub and looked up at the night sky, I recognized the Big and Little Dippers, the Bear (Ursa Major) and Orion, reminding me of childhood stargazing sessions with Dad in the backyard in Yakima. As I looked up, I couldn’t help but think that now Dad was seeing the beautiful constellations from the other side, and I laughed and cried in remembrance. Thanks, Dad, for your softer side!
Love, Pauline
Mar 3, 2008