~and if you know me, then you know my dad~
My dad dropped out of school in the middle of his 10th grade year and never went back to complete the time necessary to receive his high school diploma. As the oldest son of 8 children at home, he had to do it in order to help his family survive the times of the Great Depression. His own dad, my Grandpa Scott, was ill with heart disease and unable to take care of the family any longer. As the oldest boy, it was my dad's duty to pick up the slack and do what he could to put food on the family table.
My dad has been gone now a long time, succumbing to the effects of an 18 month battle with lung cancer that ended on December 11th of 1982. He was only 59 years old, a full nearly 5 years younger than I am today. I was looking at his picture last evening and it dawned on me that I never once asked him if he was sorry that he wasn't able to finish high school. Not even one time did I ask him how it felt to have to do that or if he ever regretted the choice that was made not by him but rather for him.
Just before bedtime last night, I found a picture of Dad and I. It shows us right after I received my college diploma in May of 1979 at Sterling College back home in Kansas. The picture doesn't show my face and I am glad. The real story is in the face of my father and as the popular saying now goes, "I wasn't crying. He was."
By the way, truth be told, we both were.
Until now, 40 years afterwards and long after both of my parents have passed away, I feel inside of me how deeply proud my dad must have been to see me cross that stage as I picked up a piece of paper that took me a long 6 years to achieve. I might not have felt that accomplishment and never realized my dream of being a teacher one day, had it not been for the fact that my dad had to quit high school and perhaps never found his own dreams.
You see, in our house of 7 kids in all there was never an option of dropping out of high school. You couldn't just miss the school bus one day and tell your parents that you needed time off for a while to find yourself. They would have just told us to get ourselves right back on that bus and get to school or we'd be finding ourselves in deep trouble with them. An education was that important to a man whose own book learning was limited by the economic times of the 1930's. My father wanted more for his own children than he was able to have for himself and you know what?
He made sure that they had it.
I had only been a teacher for 3 years when my father passed away two weeks to the day before Christmas. I remember how tough it was to go the elementary school Christmas program that year, only a few days after we buried him in the cemetery at Halstead. My principal told me not to worry about coming and that he would cover for me. I almost took him up on it because I knew that it would only take one verse of Silent Night to get me bawling like a baby, but then I thought of my dad.
John Scott, Jr. would have told me to stuff some tissues .in my pocket and get myself right there to school. He would have reminded me of the importance of following through on the commitment I had made with my school district and most importantly, to my students. It wasn't easy but I made it regardless. I'm sure he was happy that I did just that.
The years have gone by and oh where the road of life has taken me. Dad would be surprised at all the kids who have called his daughter their teacher. I'm pretty sure that he'd be shocked to realize that I have been a teacher in 4 different states now including our native Kansas. I teach every day with a picture of my folks atop a book case in my classroom as a reminder to always act in the manner in which I was brought up by both of my parents.
In my lifetime I have seen many moments that were very challenging times and ones in which I felt it would have been easier to just quit. Thank goodness for the lessons of my father, and thanks to Dad one thing is for certain.
I never did.
My dad has been gone now a long time, succumbing to the effects of an 18 month battle with lung cancer that ended on December 11th of 1982. He was only 59 years old, a full nearly 5 years younger than I am today. I was looking at his picture last evening and it dawned on me that I never once asked him if he was sorry that he wasn't able to finish high school. Not even one time did I ask him how it felt to have to do that or if he ever regretted the choice that was made not by him but rather for him.
Just before bedtime last night, I found a picture of Dad and I. It shows us right after I received my college diploma in May of 1979 at Sterling College back home in Kansas. The picture doesn't show my face and I am glad. The real story is in the face of my father and as the popular saying now goes, "I wasn't crying. He was."
By the way, truth be told, we both were.
You see, in our house of 7 kids in all there was never an option of dropping out of high school. You couldn't just miss the school bus one day and tell your parents that you needed time off for a while to find yourself. They would have just told us to get ourselves right back on that bus and get to school or we'd be finding ourselves in deep trouble with them. An education was that important to a man whose own book learning was limited by the economic times of the 1930's. My father wanted more for his own children than he was able to have for himself and you know what?
He made sure that they had it.
I had only been a teacher for 3 years when my father passed away two weeks to the day before Christmas. I remember how tough it was to go the elementary school Christmas program that year, only a few days after we buried him in the cemetery at Halstead. My principal told me not to worry about coming and that he would cover for me. I almost took him up on it because I knew that it would only take one verse of Silent Night to get me bawling like a baby, but then I thought of my dad.
John Scott, Jr. would have told me to stuff some tissues .in my pocket and get myself right there to school. He would have reminded me of the importance of following through on the commitment I had made with my school district and most importantly, to my students. It wasn't easy but I made it regardless. I'm sure he was happy that I did just that.
The years have gone by and oh where the road of life has taken me. Dad would be surprised at all the kids who have called his daughter their teacher. I'm pretty sure that he'd be shocked to realize that I have been a teacher in 4 different states now including our native Kansas. I teach every day with a picture of my folks atop a book case in my classroom as a reminder to always act in the manner in which I was brought up by both of my parents.
In my lifetime I have seen many moments that were very challenging times and ones in which I felt it would have been easier to just quit. Thank goodness for the lessons of my father, and thanks to Dad one thing is for certain.
I never did.
My folks became successful business owners back in our hometown of Haven, Kansas.
Dad also followed the harvest for 25 years, cutting wheat, corn, and milo up and down the Great Plains of America. He didn't let the lack of a high school education stop him, and he made sure that all 7 of his kids attained that elusive diploma. Dad didn't die a rich man but left his legacy with his children. If you know me, then you know my dad.
Things didn't quite work out like I thought they would that November evening in 1976, but my dad would have understood. Regardless, I am so happy that I have this picture of both of us. It was the first, last and only time he ever donned a tuxedo. 6 years later, he died.
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