In memory of Dad

Today -- Sunday, December 18, 2011 -- is a memorable day for me. My dad was born exactly 100 years ago -- on December 18, 1911, in Emery to Seth and Mary Stoltz. The 20th anniversary of his passing is coming up on December 29. He was 80 years old. My memories of Dad may dim with the passing years, but I miss Dad more and more with the passing of time. I feel like I never got to know him as well as I would've liked to. And I'd love to have Dad around to ask his opinion on so many things.
I've always looked up to Dad, respected him. He provided a loving and stable home for his wife and six rambunctious kids. He took us to church on Sundays, made sure we were fed and clothed, and that we behaved ourselves. And he worked hard, often coming home from the elevator covered in grain dust and smelling of oats.
Dad was an imposing figure -- at six feet two inches tall he had a commanding presence. And although I never knew my grandpa Seth, I can tell from old photos that my dad resembled his dad quite closely. And like his father before him, Dad managed a grain elevator.
I've been told that Dad spoke nothing but German until he entered school in Emery, probably because his mother spoke her native German since she was a native of Luxembourg. And Dad always slipped some German phrases into his everyday conversation -- phrases us kids didn't understand but still we became familiar with them, such as "dunder vetter" and "kunder gittle." Although I am butchering the spelling of those phrases, Jessica asked her college German instructor about the former phrase, which if I remember correctly translates roughly into "gosh!"
Dad was a dad in the old sense when dads were the breadwinners and moms stayed home, cared for the children and ran the household. Dad would come home after work and, after supper, sit in his chair and read the newspaper.
Dad had a beautiful bass voice, and he would sing along to some of his favorite artists, including Mitch Miller or Lawrence Welk. I never gained much of an appreciate for the latter, but I came to enjoy the the sing-along of Mitch and his gang.
Our garage was Dad's second home, and he was known for his woodworking ability. There's no doubt from where Roger got his woodworking talents. I still have a corner shelving unit that Dad made so many years ago. It's too bad that talent never drifted down to me. I'm lucky to be able to nail two boards together.
One of my fondest memories was when Dad took me to the Twin Cities to watch my very first Twins game. Dad and I -- and Nick Wenande and Mike -- rode on a Farmers Union bus to the Cities to watch the Twins play the Tigers. For a young sports-crazy boy -- I was about 10 years old -- there are simply no words to describe my joy and excitement. We got to watch some of my all-time baseball heroes -- Harmon Killebrew, Tony Oliva, Bob Allison, et al. As I recall, the Twins even won the game in extra innings. And knowing that Dad was not a big sports fan made this all the more impressive to me, and I've come to appreciate that trip more and more in the years since.
Still, it wasn't easy to ask Dad for things. I think most of us would automatically go to Mom when we wanted something because she ran the household and dealt with us directly. But when I was in high school and later, while dating, I would ask Mom if I could borrow the car. Her standard answer was, "It's your dad's car. Go ask him." Why it was difficult to ask Dad, I don't know, because I never recall him turning me down. I knew I had to behave with it and treat it as my own, and Dad was always more than fair with me.
I remember our many visits to our relatives in Emery and Humboldt. Mom and Dad would sit at the dining room table and play Euchre with Bill and Viola Mohr. And Dad was always up for a game of 500 Rummy, and if no one felt in the mood to play he would deal out a hand of Solitaire. But he loved to play 500 Rummy, and would enlist any combination of us to play a game and maybe even more than one.
Dad suffered a heart attack while I was stationed at Ft. Lewis, WA, and so we flew home to be with him. But years later he suffered a stroke, and required nursing home care. He passed away on December 29, 1991.
I hope my older children have vivid memories of their granddad, but Jessica was a baby and Brandon was not yet born. I hope I have the opportunity to meet up with Dad again some day in our next world. There is so much more about him that I want to know. And I want to talk to him. And I want to listen. I just want to listen to you, Dad. I love you and miss you. Every day.