THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1996, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Sunday, June 16, 1996 TAG: 9606130004
SECTION: COMMENTARY PAGE: J4 EDITION: FINAL
TYPE: Another View
SOURCE: By BARBREE E. HOFFMAN
LENGTH: 63 lines
At a time when it's not uncommon to hear about fathers jailed for refusing to pay child support or for abducting their children, I'd like to pay tribute to the fathers who don't fit into that category. The story of one man in particular comes to mind.
This man started his adulthood by joining the Navy, doing a tour of duty during the Korean War and coming home with a purple heart. After leaving the service he married the woman who had waited for him, and they had five children. Having a lot of pride, this man worked very hard to support his family at a time when both jobs and money were scarce. While it wasn't easy, he always managed.
When he moved his family from the city to the country, it was to a house he had built himself from the ground up, working on it weekends from sunup till darkness would send him home. He even had room for a garden and small orchard, which he took great pride in because it could help feed his rapidly growing family, not to mention the fact that he had a lot of hands that could pull weeds.
He taught his children the value of working hard for something by paying them so much for each wheelbarrow of dirt they would haul from the hill bulldozed in the back yard to the front. At the end of the week, the ones who worked would be paid and treated to a ride to the country store, where they would spend their earnings on penny candy and feel like they were rich.
His house was the house where every kid in the neighborhood would come. He built a treehouse for his kids and turned his orchard into a baseball field where he would organize games whenever he was around. Fairness in everything was important to him, and if he heard the kids arguing over who had stolen a base during a game, or because they wouldn't allow someone in the treehouse, he would make everyone go home to calm down and come to the conclusion, themselves, that the problem wasn't that important.
He put in long hours as a route driver for a potato-chip company. Every Friday was inventory day - the day he would account for the stale chips he'd pick up, and throw them out. It was also a day when every kid around would watch for that blue-and-yellow truck to come home. About 4:30, they would start to show up in his yard. He took great pleasure in seeing this as he pulled up, and after going inside to greet his wife, he would go back to the truck where the kids would sit patiently watching him do his count. When it had seemed like forever, the big doors in the back would suddenly open and boxes of chips and popcorn would appear for those who wanted them, and no one went away empty-handed.
In addition to his love for kids, he also loved animals and was always bringing home strays he found on the roads. So when his oldest daughter became horse crazy, it was no surprise that he turned his orchard/baseball field into a pony pasture and bought her a horse.
Perhaps he always knew he would die young, and by fulfilling her dream he hoped she would never forget that he did all he could for the family. Tragically, weeks later he was dead. And he was right; I never forgot.
So on behalf of this man who gave his children memories and love that money couldn't buy, and on behalf of every father who takes the time to hug his children, stops to listen or maybe just plays a baseball game, I'd like to say Happy Father's Day, Dad. MEMO: Barbree Hoffman lives in Richmond. by CNB