Remembering for Dad

I know why they call his The Greatest Generation. Because I grew up in his household and saw him be that, firsthand.

He is probably the most principled man I've ever known.

To him, hard things are challenges to be conquered, not succumbed to.

He always does what he says he will do, when he says he will do it. You can count on him. You can trust him. You know he will take care of you.

You know he will always be true to your mom.

He has always talked straight, never skirted or dodged the truth, and expects no less of his children.

I've never seen him waver in his faith nor in his living of it. I've never even heard a swear word cross his lips! Rackalfratz is about as bad as it gets. Remarkable, considering the ugliness of a war he once fought in.

He loves this nation. His family. Things that grow in gardens and orchards. He understands the need to care for and protect them. He knows it's his job, not the government's or the neighbors'.

He doesn't need much to make him happy. The accumulation of things for the sake of having them isn't in his nature. He never needs the latest car or the biggest house. Just because something is more expensive doesn't make it better.

Frugality is his middle name: Clyde Frugality Stimpson. Turn the water off while you brush your teeth. Turn the lights off when you leave a room. Eat everything on your plate, or don't put it there in the first place. Learn to make repairs yourself. Take good care of your belongings. Make do with what you have.

He believes in never making anyone do anything he wouldn't do himself: like mowing the lawn, doing the dishes, getting a college education, or finishing the job.

He believes in helping people and in giving back what's been given to you. And then some.

He believes that when duty calls, you answer. Willingly. With a smile on your face.

He pushes people toward excellence but when they falter, he grabs them by the arm and pulls them in the right direction until they can get their bearings and continue on their own. His children included.

He's an equal opportunity dad: you screw up, you pay the consequences.

He believes in being a good neighbor. And in obeying the law.

Sadly, this Memorial Day, Dad won't be remembering many, if any, of these things. Alzheimer's has clouded his brain and stolen much of what he once held dear. He doesn't always remember Mom. He forgets that he has to brush his teeth, take a shower.

Yet, he sometimes remembers in vivid detail his landing on the beach in Normandy on D-Day, the first wave of half-tracks that sank to the ocean floor. Severed limbs and broken heads. That whole fight against a tyrant. He remembers repairing radios. Playing Taps and Reveille on the bugle. How much he dislikes ham.

So, he's not the man we once called Daddy, nor the one his friends playfully slapped on the back or the one who loved to dance at parties. But I know he will be again, someday. And I want to get to know him then, as a friend, as the man Mom married, the one who could be the life of the party one minute and the dispenser of wisdom the next.

He's not likely to be with us much longer. A year? Five? A few months? No one knows. But I do know he needs us, now and always, to remember for him. And for his contemporaries, including Mom, who were and are The Greatest Generation.