Father's Day 2011

Like millions of other kids on this day, today I remember my father. Of course, my memories are biased. They should be as I hope every kid has a positive bias in recalling their father. I certainly hope my kids bring a very positive prejudice (free even from justly deserved negative judgments) to this special day. So here go a few of my very fond and strong memories of my DAD.

Faith: My father was a man of deep religious faith. He believed in grace. I recall that at dad’s funeral the pastor said that he had a problem preaching on the text which my father had requested. My father had selected a text which referred to himself as “a chief sinner.” The pastor said that no-one who knew my father would ever have used that designation-but for dad it was a take-off to point to grace, boundless love and unconditional acceptance. My father’s faith in God, in family, in kids, in the possibility of preferred future, continues to ground and inspire me. He even had faith that someday his beloved Chicago Cubs would actually win a World Series!

Trust: My dad trusted me. I recall that when I was still quite young I lied to him. Even in that undeserving situation he trusted me and took me at my word. Toward the end of his life I came to tell him that I had made a major decision regarding my future and I wondered how he would react. He said “Mel, I raised you in a way that I could trust your judgment.. I have always trusted your judgment-“do what seemeth right to thee”.

Worker: Dad worked hard-probably too hard. When I was young he taught grades 4 to 8, was the principal of a two room Lutheran school. He concurrently served as the congregation’s choir director, organist, youth director, brass band director, custodian, and congregation secretary...all the while raising nine children, and sufficient pigs, chickens cows and vegetables to provide food. During the hot Texas summer he took himself and his kids into the fields to pick cotton - always with the injunction “In the field by sun-up!”

Story teller: Dad told stories at home-especially when we kids pleaded with him to tell the stories of his childhood when wolves howled at night, horses suddenly stampeded, grandmother encountered chicken thieves, and his dad’s black farm hands shared their own dreams of greatness. In school he told the stories of the Bible in such a way that recalling them sustains me to this day. At the Texas rural weddings (after he played the organ for the ceremony) there would come a time after much beer and bar-b-que where Teacher Kieschnick was asked to tell his fantasy stories about the bride and groom. Then he closed the entertainment with the appropriate version of his solo about how fortunate to marry either a very large or a very petite spouse-always changing the words to fit the situation.

Teacher: For his entire career my Dad was often just called TEACHER Kieschnick. And that was certainly the most appropriate title. He taught all those years at the elementary school level. He taught the values of faith and trust and humor and integrity, but I also marvel at how much academic stuff he taught. In that little two-room school I, for one, learned proper grammar and to this day know how to diagram sentences and determine if a verb is transitive or intransitive. He taught us how to multiply and divide fractions, the names of the capitals of all the sates, the three branches of government, and regularly checked to make sure we knew the names of all the secretaries on the US president’s cabinet.

Lover: Each of us nine kids is convinced that we were dad’s favorite child. Later this love was extended to in-laws and grandkids. One night there must have been near 20 of us in his small house. We were sleeping all over the place with our blankets and palates on the floor from wall to wall. I woke up during the night to see dad just walking by that mass of sleeping family and his heart was aglow. He loved us all and thought we were all great. He often spoke of and constantly demonstrated his great love for his wife-our mom. One of the saddest moments I remember of my dad was when in his old age once late at night he confessed to me that his one regret in life was that he never made enough money to give mom all that he would have liked. Of course, mom would join us and especially me in saying “Dad, you gave us riches way beyond your wildest imagination!”