Traits of a good father

When my fiancé and I were discussing marriage and families, my future husband mentioned one major goal he had: he wanted to be a good father.

“I had never seen how a good family worked until I on my mission,” he told me. “There I saw examples of wonderful families with outstanding fathers who loved and took care of their families. I decided that I wanted most of all to be a father like that and raise families like those.”

I have never forgotten those words. My husband, Ed, had grown up in a home where his father had been injured in a severe accident when Ed was 18 months old. For the rest of Ed’s childhood and youth, his father had not been a really good father. He had been in hospitals and sanitariums; he became an alcoholic, and addicted to his pain meds. Ed had no good memories of his father. 

 Years later my daughter would meet someone who had been in my father-in-law’s scout troop before his accident and this gentleman felt that my father-in-law was one of the finest scoutmasters he’d ever known. Ed had three older siblings and I have no idea if Ed’s father had been a much better father to them before his accident. I just know that for Ed, his memories of his father were not good. 

However, rather than give him an excuse to be a lousy father, this had made Ed determined to be a much better father to his own children, and the good examples he had seen on his LDS* mission had become blueprints to his own plan of fatherhood. I remember being impressed with Ed’s words and in the past 50 years of marriage, I feel he has really lived up to his promise to be a good father. 

On this father’s day, I have pondered how Ed has become a good father. Ed hasn’t been the same father to all his children because our children are so far apart in age—our oldest child is 20 years old than our youngest child. So the father Ed was at 26 years of age to our oldest child was very different than he was at 46 years of age when our youngest was born, or at 64 years of age when the youngest graduated from high school. But his determination to always be a good and loving father has always been the same. 

One of the ways Ed wanted to be a good father was to be active in the church, and to raise

his children within the bounds of the church. There are numerous studies that site how important religious activity is in a child’s life. However, I think one of Ed’s motivations was that he remembers going to church as a youth and being ashamed of his father. Growing up in a small town where everyone knew everyone’s business, it hurt him when people talked about his father. I think Ed never wanted his children to be ashamed of him.

I think Ed’s missionary experiences and the examples of good fathers and families he’d admired involved church activity, including family prayers, family home evening, so he wanted to do these things also. This was the cornerstone of his fatherhood. I think he realized these things strengthen the family and make each person in the family better. Ed wanted us to be an eternal family so he wanted to raise the children to be part of an eternal family. 

Ed always enjoyed doing things as a family, from fishing, to camping, to all kinds of activities. Playing games, traveling places, going to movies—even working together in the garden—anything we did together as a family was important. Ed relished doing things with his children, being together, doing things as a family was his number one priority.

Ed always supported our children in all their activities, no matter how tedious. I can’t count how many times he would get off work early to go to a t-ball game, an acrobat review, or go to a father/son campout when he would much rather have done something else. As the years went by, it grew to countless dance recitals, choir and band concerts, ball games (of multiple types, including coaching); the list goes on forever. Whatever our children were involved in, including parent/teacher conferences, Ed was there. Whatever they were doing was important and he supported them and was there for them. 

Supporting my activities and education was another way he was a good father. It reinforced

to our children that everyone in a family’s undertakings and accomplishments were important. I had callings in the church and Ed took care of our children so I could fulfill those callings. Sometimes it was not convenient for him, but he knew I had my responsibilities, so he made sure I could achieve those.

I recall one time in Killeen, Texas in 1975. I was in the Stake Primary President and we were supposed to attend a stake meeting somewhere hours away. We had three little children at the time, ages 4, 6, 8 years. Ed had made arrangements to babysit the children, but just as I was supposed to leave, he got a phone call from the battery where he was battery commander that there was some type of emergency. I wondered if he would have to cancel babysitting to handle the problem; but he assured me to go to my meetings, he could take care of the problem and still babysit the children. I never knew whether he had to get someone else to babysit the children, or took them into the battery headquarters, but I knew that his commitment to me and my responsibilities was solid.

Later, he supported me as I finished my bachelor’s degree; it took me 24 years to complete my B. A. in English degree, and then I was pregnant with my fifth child. But Ed helped me and sustained me every step of the way—understanding my own timetable to complete it. I waited until all my children were in school, and then the only way I could attend school was in night school.  

Ed was a good disciplinarian. He was strict without being unfair. I think Ed was naturally good at this, but his experience as an officer in the U. S. Army helped hone this skill. Together we made rules and routines for our children and were consistent in applying discipline. This did not come naturally. I recall an incident in 1968 when our nine-month-old baby screamed in church and Ed took him out in the foyer and just as the door shut we heard a loud “slap” on the baby’s diaper. That changed quickly as he learned patience!

Ed’s military experience also taught him a lot of leadership and people skills which he

taught his own children by example. It has been interesting that all five of our children have developed leadership skills in various disciplines, and I’ve seen them model these from my husband.

One of the traits that I have admired the most about Ed is his unconditional love and his ability to allow our children the chance to develop opportunities to make decisions as they got older, and to learn from their mistakes in less harmful ways. How many times has Ed gritted his teeth and shook his head over something that his teen-age children have done (usually to do with money), but added, “They have to learn the hard way.”

Once when an adult child decided not to go to college, but drop out, a friend said, “Aren’t you going to stop him?” 

Ed replied, “He is an adult. We love him. We wish he wouldn’t do this, but he will have to learn himself.” 

I have loved that Ed has never tried to make our children into clones of himself.  All of our children are each unique individuals with talents and interests of their own. Ed & I both celebrate their right to choose their careers and interests, whether we enjoy those same things. To Ed, it is more important that our children have the skills and education to do what they want in their life rather than what they want to be.   

Even when one decided that he wanted to be an actor, Ed

just encouraged him to make sure he got an education so he could get a good job in the field while he was trying to succeed. He never said, “It is impractical to be an actor.” Instead he said, “Get some education to work in a job where you can use those skills while you succeed in becoming an actor.”

When our daughter wanted to attend Berklee College of Music in Boston, rather than discourage her, he suggested he try to get a scholarship, which she did and attended Berklee. He always encourages our children to follow their dreams by getting an education, which he feels is one of the keys to success in employment. 

There are many other ways Ed is a good father, but these are the things that stand out as I reflect on Father’s Day. However, I think of one more thing that Ed has done for his children is revealed in this quote by Jim Valvano:

“My father gave me the greatest gift anyone could give another person, he believed in me."

Winter Lessons

Marlowe taking care of Athena Christmas 1970

The winter winds blew so coldly and I felt so vulnerable as I left the pediatrician’s office with my 18-month old daughter, Athena. The doctor had said her cough wasn’t anything serious and hadn’t given me anything for it, but I was still worried. She kept coughing and coughing. It was only a few days before Christmas in 1970, and I was living in a small upstairs apartment in Bountiful, Utah while my husband was serving his second tour as a helicopter pilot in Vietnam. My oldest son, Marlowe, had just celebrated his third birthday, and he held onto Athena’s hand as we walked to the car, telling her she would be better soon.

 Ed had left for Vietnam in mid-November and I’d felt very brave and self-confident then. But the cold, snow, and Athena’s cough, had weakened my resolve. But since the doctor had said Athena was “okay” I decided to do some more shopping. I just didn’t want to go home to my empty apartment. It was dark before I got home, and the phone was ringing. I grabbed it, and tried to get the children’s coats off as I talked on the phone. I was surprised that it was my dad. He was very worried and explained that he had been trying to locate me for hours. 

Beth Christmas 1970 Bountiful, Utah

“The doctor’s office called me when they couldn’t reach you,” he said.  “You had put me down as an emergency contact. The radiologist looked at Athena’s x-ray and said she definitely had pneumonia and you needed to get her back to the emergency room at Hill Field as soon as possible. They have medicine and treatment waiting for her.”

I looked at my toddler, whose coat I had just taken off, and who was coughing again. What a lousy mother I had been. I had kept her out all afternoon when she was sick with pneumonia! How grateful I was that my father had been able to get the message from the doctors and notify me. 

Later that same winter I was feeling lonely and isolated. I had no one I could relate to. I missed my two sisters who were closest in age to me. Both were married and living far away. One had one daughter Athena’s age, and the other was expecting a baby the same time I was, in February. How I wished we could do things together; but we were so far away and long distance phone calls were so expensive. Our mother had died not long after I had married so none of us had had someone we could call on for motherly advice.  Dad lived in the same town, but he worked swing shift. My younger brother at home was 16 years old; my youngest sister had just turned 14 years old. My mother-in-law lived several hundred miles away; she had remarried recently and her husband did not care for my husband, so I did not feel I could call on her for help or advice.

Marlowe & Athena 1970

One of the other “Waiting Wives” in Bountiful had three small children about the same age as mine, and I often thought to call her and do things with her. However, I knew she had many siblings who lived in the area, and I kept thinking that I was being a bother to want to do things with her when she was probably doing things with her family. When I went back to the pediatrician to have him check to make sure Athena was completely clear of her pneumonia, I met my friend there in the waiting room in tears. Her youngest son was very sick, and she had no one to take care of the other two while they hospitalized him. I immediately offered to take them home with me, and was surprised that her family had not offered to help her. 

“They are too busy with their lives. They don’t understand how it is to not have a husband to help,” she sobbed. 

I realized all the times I had hesitated to call her because I thought I would bother her when she was busy with her extended family, and she was just as isolated as I was because her husband was in Vietnam. I decided then to reach out to each woman whose husband was in Vietnam—whether they had a lot of extended family or not. We were in a unique situation; no one understood what it was like and how we could help each other like we could. 

Athena & Marlowe playing in the snow 1971

It was late in January of 1971 when I got my last lesson. I awoke to my three-year-old son crying. I went to him and tried to comfort him, but nothing would help. He was doubled over with pain. He was in so much pain that he couldn’t talk. Finally I realized that I needed to take him to the emergency room. It was about 3:00 in the morning, and I was frantic. I couldn’t take both children out in the cold to the emergency room, so what was I to do?  I prayed; I knew Marlowe had to go to the emergency room. Something was desperately wrong with him. 

I decided to call my father. He worked swing shift. He would come over no matter what the hour to babysit Athena while I took Marlowe to the emergency room. I called and he came right over. I’ll never forget what he said when he saw Marlowe. 

“He’s wheezing, Beth. He has asthma.” I was shocked. I had had asthma as a baby, and for a year as a teenager, but then I had mainly coughed continually. I couldn’t remember wheezing, or even what wheezing was. 

“Can’t you hear him wheezing?” Now that I listened of course I could hear the wheezing sound. “That’s why he can’t talk—he can’t breathe.” My father knelt down and carefully touched Marlowe’s doubled up diaphragm. Marlowe jumped and cried. “He’s wheezed and struggled to breathe so much that he’s pulled the muscles in his diaphragm, pour little guy. Get him up to the emergency room.”

All the way up to the emergency room with Marlowe crying and wheezing in his car seat, I kept thinking what I crummy mother I was—I didn’t even know when my own child had asthma and I endangered his life. It took my own father to tell me what to do. At the emergency room, they quickly treated him and told me what to do. 

I had felt alone that winter, and that year—and often very inadequate—as young parents often do. But I wasn’t alone; of course we are never alone. The Lord is always aware of us, and our needs; he uses those around us, then as now—family and friends—to help us meet the challenges of life.

My Father’s Legacy

My father was an ordinary, blue-collar man. He never accumulated great wealth, or served as president of an organization, auxiliary or club. He never wrote a book, invented a new machine, won war medals, or did anything to make him well known or famous. When he died, there were no buildings or streets named after him, no colleges endowed by him, or long obituaries written for him. What legacy did he leave for his children? He left a legacy of a strong work ethic, a willingness to help others, a love of learning, loving support, and a testimony of Christ.

When I was young, I never realized my father had a testimony, because it was hard for him to show it. I assumed he believed in the gospel because he always took us to Church. However, because he was Fay 1957 shy or whatever—I don’t know why—he never blessed, baptized, confirmed, or ordained any of us older children. He did participate in priesthood confirmations and ordinations, so I never felt deprived. That was just how it was. Looking back, I never recall a time when he gave me a father’s blessing during my early years, but maybe I never asked him for one.

I never saw my father gradually take on the mantle of noble patriarch of his family, because after I married, my husband’s work took me far from my childhood home. Even after my mother’s death, as Dad remarried and reared a second family, I was never around to see him magnify his priesthood.


My sister was more fortunate because she lived only a couple of miles from Dad. It was Dad who blessed and named her first son, who helped ordain her husband to the Melchizedek Priesthood, and who participated in all of her sons’ ordinations. He came to their Family Home Evenings and always participated. She recalls that every Christmas Dad would tell of his love of Heavenly Father.

It was 25 years later, when we moved back in my home state with children of our own, that I realized what a strong family leader my father had become. He participated in every ordinance that his many children and grandchildren received. He helped give my children and grandchildren priesthood blessings, and I received several very special father’s blessings that I will never forget. He went to the temple with each prospective missionary, and sat in the special place of honor at their weddings.

It was in May of 1998 that I first heard my father bear his testimony. He had helped name and bless a nephew’s newest baby, and afterwards he stood in the fast and testimony meeting and bore a simple, heartfelt testimony.

“So many of my family are here today, that I can’t let this opportunity pass without letting them know I have a testimony of the truthfulness of the gospel,” my father said gripping his canes to keep his balance. “I love the Savior. I know he hears and answers our prayers. I know that we have a prophet at the head of this Church.”

My brothers and sisters and I looked at each other in amazement, because although we had assumed our father had a testimony, we had never heard him bear it before. How grateful we were for that treasured testimony, because soon afterwards he suffered a massive heart attack and never had the opportunity to bear his testimony in public again.




Although my father had difficulty expressing his testimony, his life was a testament of his concern and love for others. He was always the first to help someone in need, to mow someone’s lawn, or fix someone’s car. He shared the bounty of his gardens with everyone.

My father was always intrigued by technology and progress. I recall that we had one of the first television sets in 1950 before there were many channels or shows broadcast. He never lost that enthusiasm for learning new things, and in his 80s, he embraced computers, e-mail, and scanners. I’ll never forget his words in the Intensive Care unit, “I can’t die yet. I haven’t learned how to use my scanner yet.”

My father attended all of our activities and those of our children. He sat through countless recitals, concerts, plays, and games as he cheered his posterity on, and took us out for ice cream afterwards.

Like many of his generation, he was a hard-working man, who expected us to carry our own loads. But, even as he taught us to work hard, he helped us realize how exciting work and training can be.

Although my father found it difficult to express his love when we were young, he more than made up for it telling us how much he loved us in his later years. We never left his home, but that he said, “I love you and appreciate all you’ve done for me.” You knew it wasn’t ritual or meaningless phrases, but came from his heart.

Although his faith was a quiet, unspoken kind, he demonstrated it in countless ways. I recall a time when I was living in Hawaii and had to have a biopsy of my breast. Because my mother had died of breast cancer, everyone was very worried. My father organized a special family fast, and gathered everyone together afterwards for a special family prayer. I wasn’t aware of the fast, but half a world away, I felt the effect of their father and prayers, when I had a special answer—I felt a peace enfold me that helped me face the challenges ahead. It was a real demonstration to me of my father’s and my family’s faith.

Faith cannot be weighed on a mortal scale. Nor can the value of a father’s example be counted in coin or currency. The worth of a life is not always reflected in the number of scholarships endowed, or buildings bearing one’s name. It may not even be measured by the length of a man’s obituary.

Sometimes a man’s legacy is reflected only obliquely through his posterity’s faith, lives and testimonies.

“Your Son Needs You!”

Fay Hansen died on a warm June night in 1980.

He was recovering from his second coronary bypass when he had a fatal reaction to the morphine administered to him for pain. He felt his heart go wild, then collapse in on itself. One minute he was struggling vainly to quiet his racing heart, panicked and afraid; the next moment, overwhelming peace and relief wiped away the terror. One minute doctors and nurses were fussing and fretting, trying to stabilize him; the next, the room was full of old friends and relatives in white.

Fay saw his father first, smiling in the warm, loving way he always had. Fay realized then that he had died in the frantic moments that his heart was out of control, because his father had departed life nearly a half century before.

"You've come for me," Fay thought as he recognized familiar faces of friends and family who had died many years before. "I am through with this life." It was an overwhelming peace that enveloped Fay, a wonderful relief from the pain that was his constant companion.

"Are you ready to go?" Fay's father asked him.

The thought of leaving the pain, the struggles behind seemed so inviting that Fay wanted with all his heart to say "Yes." But something nagged at him. There was something that was not yet done.

"Haven't you forgotten something?" Fay's father asked gently. Fleeting thoughts of all seven of his children raced through his mind. Six were married with families of their own. His youngest daughter, Ann, although unmarried, was doing well and was active in the Church.

With instant clarity, a nagging feeling of what was left undone overwhelmed Fay. If he left the earth at this moment, what would happen to his youngest son? This son had been given the name of his grandfather, the big, kindly man standing before Fay. Will was a good man, but he had become estranged in a subtle way from the rest of the family.

"Will is not very close to the family." Fay told his father. "I can't do any more to reach him." Fay looked in vain among the crowd for the wife who had died nearly twenty years before. He could see old friends from half a century before, his brother, his cousin. However, he could not see his first wife among the individuals in white.

"Your son needs you," Fay's father gently reminded him.

Fay thought of this youngest son, who was so like the grandfather whom he had been named after. He was kind, thoughtful, reserved, and very friendly. There was no outright break from the family, but ever since Fay had married (a second time) to Donna, who had eight children of her own, Will had gone his own way.

"Are you really ready to leave this earth?" Fay's father asked him, his eyes searing Fay to the soul. "Are you ready to leave things as they are at this moment?" As much as Fay wanted to shrug off the pain, sorrow, and struggles that had been his life, he knew that he'd be leaving work undone. And Fay was not one to shirk away from duty.

"But what can I do to unite my family?" Fay asked. "What more can I do that I have not already done?" Fay's thoughts bubbled up like a pot boiling over, but as they struck the tall man facing him, they fizzled and evaporated. Would Fay be happy if he left things as they were that day? No. He knew—as tempting as the prospect appeared—it wasn't right.

"Can I have more time? Can I try again to find the way to strengthen my family?" The thoughts came unbidden to Fay's mind as his father smiled back at him with a joy that filled the room. Suddenly the room full of people dressed in white vanished.

Overwhelming pain enveloped Fay like a damp, heavy cloth, smothering the peace he'd felt so recently. Voices and noises scattered the lingering remnants.

"I have a heartbeat," a woman's voice cried triumphantly.

Fay tried in vain to capture again the fleeting image of his father smiling in the old familiar way, but it was gone.

"Fay, you old rascal," he recognized the intensive care doctor calling to him from afar. "You sure gave us a good scare that time." Reluctantly Fay opened his eyes to the familiar hospital room.

"We almost lost you that time," the nurse said, smiling, her stethoscope pressed against his aching chest. "Your heart became arrhythmic and went out of control. But you're back."

The constant pain shrouded Fay until he prayed for the oblivion of sleep. But he couldn't lose the urgency that there was something important he needed to do. Something he couldn't forget again. Several times during the recovery which had been only temporarily halted by his anaphylactic reaction to the morphine, Fay almost forgot what he still had to do.

Several times when he felt it had slipped away from him, he'd open his eyes and see two white figures standing by the window. They would smile at him, and again he would feel their love reach across the room to him. He would then remember his son, Will, and know that he, too, must reach out in love to him.

When his wife, Donna, arrived and heard about the incident wherein Fay had died, she clucked over him like a mother hen. Fay then shared with her what had happened to him during the frantic few minutes he had been clinically "dead."

"There is something important I need to do," Fay explained. "We haven't been all together as a family for years. It is important that we do so." Two months later Fay's seven children and their families gathered together in Mueller Park for a short reunion. Will and Lois laughed with the others and the family drew closer than they had for a long time.

Surprisingly, that was not the end of the story. There was another chapter that did not come out until 12 years later at another family reunion—this one at Fish Lake in Southern Utah.

At a family testimony meeting Fay and Donna testified of our ancestors love for all the family. The story was told of the night Grandpa William Hansen came and reminded Fay that his “son” that needed him.

Then Dale, (Donna’s youngest son) asked if he could tell his side of the same story. Tears shown in his eyes as he explained that at the time of Fay's “death,” Dale was serving as a missionary in Argentina. Donna's younger children had accepted Fay with open hearts when he had married her. Surprisingly, Dale had grown closer to Fay than to his own father.

When Dale left on his mission, he had been concerned about Fay’s health, which wasn’t very good. Donna had promised to keep him informed of any problems. Soon afterward, Fay underwent his first coronary by-pass, and Donna had sent a telegram to Dale. The message about Fay's surgery and recovery took so long to reach Dale that when the second coronary by-pass was scheduled, Donna decided not to worry Dale until it was all over.

Dale, however, didn't need a letter or telegram to know that Fay was very ill and that he might die. The same day Fay had his surgery, Dale had awoke from a vivid dream wherein he saw Jenny, Fay's deceased first wife, and others waiting to welcome Fay into the spirit world. Dale recognized Jenny though he had never met her in this life, and knew that she was eagerly awaiting Fay’s arrival.

The fear that Fay would die upset Dale so much that he asked his missionary companion to join him in a special fast and prayer. Dale pleaded with the Lord to spare Fay. He explained that he had just learned to appreciate Fay as the father he'd never had before then. He cried that he still had many activities—fishing, hunting—that he wanted to do with Fay. During a long, anxious day Dale and his companion worried and prayed. That night Dale received a confirmation of the spirit, that the Lord had heard his plea and that Fay would be spared. He felt peace that Fay would be fine.

It was very late that evening, (not weeks later, as before) when Dale received a telegram that told him that Fay had had another coronary surgery. Donna explained in the telegram that although there had been some problems, Fay was recovering. Dale was never told that Fay had died after the surgery, or that he had experienced a visit from his father while he was clinically dead.

On that starlit night around a campfire in 1992, tears flowed as Dale recalled the experience he had endured at the time of Fay’s “death.” He shared his immense feeling of gratitude that his prayer had been answered; that Fay had been spared because “his son” needed him.

Which son needed Fay that night when his heart stopped? Perhaps both. Only Fay’s father knows—and he can’t tell us.