Day: December 4, 2018

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Dad’s Off Playing With His Dogs In Heaven

Santa-hatted canines abound, covering Bow Tie o’ the Day and Ties o’ the Day. Dad was not just a bee guy. He was not just a holder of any nearby baby. My late dad was also a dog man.

Especially after Dad semi-retired, he was always seen with a mutt companion riding in the back of his truck. He was partial to Labrador Retrievers, like the one here wrapped up in a string of Christmas lights. This Golden Lab resembles the last few dogs Dad had in his life. He had only one dog at a time, but somehow the dogs all looked exactly alike.

Seriously, Dad’s dogs didn’t look alike in the sense of being of the same breed. Nope. They just all looked alike. Exactly alike.  And I mean, exactly. Dad inadvertently made it even more complicated for us to keep the dogs straight in our memories because he named his dogs the same names. If the dog was a female, he named it Becky. If it was a male, he named it Bert. I guess by the time Dad was choosing the dogs of his later years, he didn’t want to be bothered to remember new names. I do think he’s the only person who truly knew the separate souls of each of his clone-like mutts.

I’m glad Dad knew I was a baby, and not a puppy, when I was born. He would have named me Becky. Instead, he named me Helen Eileen (see that story in an earlier post). I suppose you could say I was kind of Dad’s puppy for the first six months of my life, though. Mom went through Hell giving birth to me and she was not well enough to mother me for a few months, so my dad was also my mom. (The original MR. MOM?)

My sisters helped take care of me. My grandparents helped. But mostly, I was in Dad’s arms. As I understand it, I spent a lot of time cooing and crying and napping in his bee truck while he worked in the bee yards– from Richfield to St. George to Payson to Heber and back to Delta again.

To hear Mom tell it, Dad was so concerned about her health, and he treated her with such tenderness that he wouldn’t even allow her to lift a finger to change my diaper for the first six months of my life. Now that’s probably a bigly bit of an exaggeration. It’s likely a tall tale. But Dad was tall, and many tales have been told about him. He was mythical in his own way, imperfections and all. Dad was not perfect, but he was perfectly Dad. In his way, he was a true myth I know by heart.

HOLIDAY TIE TALLY: 31 Bow ties. 82 Neckties.

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My Dad, King O’ All Deer Hunters!

Here’s a photo of a handsome tieless chap, along with The Three Wise-Deer o’ Ties o’ the Day. (Try saying that three times quickly.) Each tie deer has chosen to show its individuality with its own Christmas flair: a bow tie, or a red nose, or a wreath. Yup, that’s my dad as a boy, but he never killed a deer if it was wearing a holiday fashion accent.

Eleven years ago this morning, Ronald Edmond Wright died. He was 77, and he was my Dad. My dad. He wasn’t “Father,” “Daddy,” “Pop,” or “Pa.” He’s “Dad.” In this photo, he’s probably around 12, and he’s standing on his family’s front porch. (Yes, this is THE porch. He grew up in this house, which I eventually bought, and which I sold last year.)

Dad was a beekeeper by trade. He was also a brick mason. He was not a man of many words out in the world, but he was a master joke teller anywhere. The same jokes, over and over. But they were hilarious every time. He could tell compelling stories when he wanted to. Of course, he was a talker with us.

Dad was also a sly and energetic coyote hunter. He hunted every critter you can hunt, but nothing thrilled him as much as hunting coyotes. He woke before dawn, and EVERY morning he rode around the county on his perpetual coyote hunt.

When I was thinking of what to write about Dad in this post, I decided on a couple of incidents that most people probably have never heard about. Dad was quiet about them. Dad was not a braggart. When he told me the stories, I was amazed by his quiet decency and grace. He could make a point someone needed to learn, without exposing them to their friends and family.

[Since the place he lived his life, Delta, is a small town, I will be vague about details, and I will not mention names. In order to protect the guilty.]

Story #1. One night, Dad saw a guy steal a piece of his equipment from the property behind our house. It was a bigly piece of equipment that had to be loaded onto a trailer to be moved. Dad let it happen, to avoid us seeing a confrontation in our yard.

Everybody knows everybody in Delta, so Dad knew the guy. Therefore, Dad knew where his equipment would end up. The next day, when he knew the dude would be where the equipment was, Dad drove out and stole it back right in front of the guy, without saying one word to him. The guy just watched as Dad drove away with his rightful property. The cops weren’t called, but justice was served. The guy felt properly shitty about what he’d done. No need for an arrest. Dad humbled the man, but not in public or in front of his family. The point was made. The incident was put aside. Dad and the guy stayed friends.

Story #2. Dad noticed some of his hay was missing, and it kept going missing. (Poor Dad. Everybody stole from him.) Dad kept a closer eye on the hay bales and soon saw the culprit in action. Again, in a small town you know everybody, so Dad knew the dude. Dad knew the guy had a big family and a crappy job. On the side, the guy used his horses to do some other work, to bring more in money for his family. Because of that, the man needed to keep his horses, even though he couldn’t always afford to feed them. Dad realized why the guy had stolen the hay: need and pride.

Again, Dad didn’t call the cops. Dad didn’t embarrass the guy in front of his family or in public. But Dad wouldn’t let the guy keep stealing hay from him. Ain’t nobody gonna steal from Ron Wright. Nope. So Dad threw a couple of bales of hay in his truck, drove to the guy’s horse corral, and told the guy he thought the guy might need some hay for his horses. Dad said nothing about the stolen hay, got back in his truck, and drove away. And then Dad continued to drop off a bale of hay occasionally at the guy’s corral. Point made. And Dad reformed a thief.

Wise moves, Dad. [More Dad stuff next post.]

HOLIDAY TIE TALLY: 30 Bow ties. 80 Neckties.