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."

Trains, Planes and Compassion

Sometimes a lot of pain and suffering can be taken away with a kind word or thoughtful deed—even when the two (trial and solicitous service) are not connected in any way. A trial loses its sting when tempered by someone’s charity. 

I recently learned this personally when my husband and I had one of those “worst days of your life” when everything went wrong; then, a compassionate act made at the end of the day seem a funny tale to tell instead of a bitter memory.

Ed and I were on a once in a lifetime, 50^th year anniversary family history trip to Europe. Our schedule was as tight as a rubber band, with no time for error or waste. We were traveling from Manchester, England to Dublin, Ireland on a Sunday morning early morning flight. We had been traveling on the train a lot on our trip, including into the Manchester Train Station. We knew that the train went from Manchester to the airport about every five to ten minutes, so we arrived at the train station about two hours earlier than our flight was due. It was a short trip on the train to the airport and we thought there was no problem. 

However, we didn’t realize that on Sundays the trains only run every 45 minutes to an hour, and we’d just missed the last one. We still didn’t worry. However, when the train we were on had engine problems, we began to worry. Normally the distance between the train station exits and airport entrances were close or had shuttle service, but not in Manchester—it was a long, winding distance between them. As we finally reached the airport, we saw taxis dropping people off right off at the airport gates that had taken us ages to reach. Ed said, “We should have taken a taxi and been here hours ago.”

We contacted handicapped assistance which we had arranged for in advanced in all the

airports because of Ed’s emphysema and lung transplant which makes it difficult for him to walk fast or very far; they had no record of our requesting it, but they said they could arrange it. That took longer. By then we knew we’d missed our flight and we had. 

They booked us on the next available flight to Dublin which was 12 hours later and would cost us $360. What choice did we have? Nothing more fun than hanging around an airport for 12 hours. What they didn’t tell us was that there was a lounge especially for handicapped passengers where we could have sat down in comfortable seats, at least. So we walked around with our entire luggage and stopped in at cafes for hours. Ed had had problems at times on our trip with nausea and this was one of those days. So he didn’t dare eat anything and only sipped at bottled water. He read from my kindle and I read my kindle book on my tablet. It was one time it came in handy to have both. 

Finally it was time we could check in our luggage anyway, and not be burdened down with it. We went back to the gate and they weighed our luggage (which I had used my portable weight to keep it down to .4 kilos within the 20 kilo limit). Then they informed us that this airline only had a 15 kilo limit (and only 8 kilos for carry-ons) so our luggage (which we had paid for in advance) was overweight and would cost us $150 each more for overweight charges. We left the gate and were wondering what to do when the lady at customer service suggested we go downstairs and purchase a small $15.00 duffle bag in one of the gift shops. It folds up into the size of 12 inch book and yet holds a lot. We could then put the five kilo excess luggage from each of our bags, plus, our excess carry-on in it and pay for an extra bag, which was less than $70.00. We did that and rearranged our luggage. We must not have been the only people unprepared for the unusual weight limits as there were long shelves there for “repacking and rearranging luggage.” 

Finally at 8:00pm, we climbed aboard a small airplane and headed for Dublin. The seats were so close together that although Ed is a small person, his knees were touching the seat in front of him. Ed was finally so weak from not eating that I was happy when he ate some crackers and did not get nauseated. 

As we disembarked at Dublin, we asked if there was someone from Handicapped Assistance to put Ed in a wheelchair and take him through the terminal to the exit. Everyone we talked to said, “No.” Finally after everyone departed the plane, and no one was left, we began the trek through the long, lonely, deserted terminal. For some reason (probably his weakness), Ed was having problems with walking very far with stopping to rest. Even though he leaned on my shoulder to balance and make it easier to walk, I began to count in my head, walk 10 steps, rest; walk 10 steps, rest. It took us well over an hour to get to customs, who barely looked at our passports and waved us through. We never saw anyone who could help us or who we could ask for Handicapped Assistance.

Everything was so deserted.

At the luggage carrousel our luggage had been taken off and placed by customer service so it was easy to pick it up and get a taxi to our hotel. 

It was about 10:30pm or later when we arrived at our hotel and we were totally exhausted. We had gotten up at 3:30am to get ready for our flight and with all the problems, we were emotionally as well as physically wiped out. I was relieved to find we still had a room (I was waiting for some last cosmic jinx that had somehow interfered with it). 

We got our keys and were ready to go, when the manager (who was having trouble

speaking English) said, “Wait. We have a voucher for you.”

I looked at him strangely and said. “We didn’t pay for a voucher.”

“Yes, it gives you two full meals in our restaurant with appetizer, main course, desert and a

bottle of wine.”

“We didn’t order that,” I again denied.

“Markson gave it to you,” he insisted.

I looked at Ed puzzled and said, “Markson?”

He pulled out an envelope and gave it to us. Inside was an elaborate voucher. 

The manager was grinning all over that we finally understood. “Markson called and paid for it. We expected you here earlier and were all prepared to serve you a special meal.”

We then realized he was talking about our son, Marc, in Washington, D.C. who had called and made the arrangement. I felt like crying that even though we were half a world away, without a cell phone (because it was not compatible), our children were thinking of us on Mother’s Day and wanting to make it special for us.

That one act from our children wiped out all the frustrations of the day; I will always remember that as one of the most special Mother’s Day of my life.

Patriotism and Me

I have always felt that I was more patriotic because of the 23 years Ed served in the military and of the many sacrifices we made as a military family. This included two years when Ed was serving in Vietnam and I was a young mother in Utah. His two tours of Vietnam were very difficult, but each time he was gone, I gave birth to his children without him. We had no choice in our assignments; we were sent where the Army told us to go and we could not decline an assignment no matter how difficult it was, or quit our job if we decided we didn’t like it.

During our children’s early years we usually moved every two years; during one period of time it was more often and Athena was in the fifth grade before she attended a full year of school in the same class she started out the school year in. This was very hard as she was a child who needed stability and routine; losing this permanence because of moving made her dyslexia worse. After each move she’d write mirror-image after until she felt secure again.

 

Ed marching in military parade

As a member of an Army family, I have seen many instances that have made me feel patriotic. I have seen many military parades where my heart has swelled with pride in our fine soldiers. I have seen my Air Force flyovers when I realized how grateful I was for those proud aviators who trained and served in far off bases. I have seen scenes on television of armed forces fighting and dying on foreign soil. All of these remind me of the price our soldiers pay for our country. In Italy our country’s anthem played on Armed Forces Network Television when it first came on in the morning and the last thing at night. We were reminded constantly of our citizenship while we were living in a foreign country.

I recall the Independence Day Carnival at the Military Base in Italy when they opened the base to Italians and everyone came inside to enjoy a hometown 4^th of July Party, with fireworks filling the sky at the end. 

I also recall times when I have seen individual incidences of respect for our country. I remember going to a movie theater on a military base in northern Italy, and as usual, the Star Spangled Banner played as the flag was displayed on the screen before the regular movie. Everyone in the theater stood and saluted or put their hand over their heart except a bunch of teenagers who were goofing off and being disrespectful. Ed went over to them and told them to stand up and be respectful to the flag, and those who were fighting for their freedom, and they shaped up. I remember how proud at that moment I was of my country, and my flag. The simple act of standing at attention while our national anthem played while we watched a movie on a military base reminded me of the freedoms I took for granted that our soldiers serving in that nation, far from family and friends, did not take for granted.

I remember another time while we were stationed on that Italian base. There were international tensions, and

Marc at school in Italy

our country dropped some bombs on Libya. Libya couldn’t bomb America, so instead they attacked some Italian islands they could reach. It was a tempest in a teapot, but some Italian politicians became angry against America. As civilians we knew nothing that morning, but as our teenage son walked through the Italian villaggio on the way to school, an old Italian man swore at him and spit on him. Our son didn’t know what was going on, but he recognized what it was—anti-American sentiment, something we ran into occasionally. He pulled out his cassette player, put on the music, “I’m Proud to Be an American” and continued to walk to school. Another time our eight-year-old daughter was called a “dirty American” and spit at outside church one Sunday, and for a while all students were bussed to school to prevent problems. There were anti-American protests outside the base so it was closed to all but Americans. Mormon missionaries were told to stop wearing their name tags and to stop proselyting temporarily because they were a

At church in Vicenza Italy

symbol of America. Eventually everything blew over and became normal again, but it reminded us how really free we are in America. I am grateful for those soldiers all over the world who live in places where it isn’t always easy to live as an American so the rest of us Americans can enjoy our freedoms.
 

I remember my first experience with the military when I first joined Ed at Ft. Wolters, Texas while he was going through flight school. I lived in a tiny apartment on the reactivated base and every morning I heard reveille play at 5:00 am. I couldn’t hear where it was coming from and at first I wondered if it was ghostly music from World War II when Ft. Wolters was for a time the largest infantry replacement training center in the United States. Eventually I realized my mistake, but it reminded me of all the soldiers who had passed through Ft. Wolters on their way to World War II, and were now on their way to Vietnam.  How many of these soldiers who passed through Ft. Wolters lived and how many died? How many who heard the same haunting sounds of that reveille as I did, then died during their army tours?

Many of the things I have mentioned have to do with the military—how they have fought to protect our freedoms. But I also remember the other side of patriotism—being a poll worker at the precinct on voting day in Texas, serving as a juror in Davis County, doing community service, studying the issues and candidates and voting. It is also strengthening the family and marriage in an ever-changing world by promoting The Family: A Proclamation to the World, fighting for the values I hold dear. A quote by James Bryce says it all, “Patriotism consists not in waving the flag, but in striving, that our country shall be righteous as well as strong.”

Sharing My Love of Genealogy

Grandmother Hansen

When I was 13 years old, I went to Monroe, Utah to spend a couple of weeks in the summer with my paternal grandmother Hansen. As far as I know, I was the only one of her grandchildren to be chosen for such a visit, but I’ve always been so grateful for the opportunity that I had.

I remember getting up early in the morning to pick raspberries from her abundant raspberry patch; we worked in her flower garden with peonies and roses; we walked downtown; she taught me to sew and made me a chartreus green blouse with a Vogue pattern; but most importantly she taught me to love genealogy.

I can remember making me own large genealogy chart and grandmother telling me about each generation and the people. I imagined that the British ancestors were pirates; that the Danish ancestors were Vikings, or maybe they lived in the two castles that our family lived near—Elsinor Castle (Hamlet’s Castle), and Fredericksburg Castle. Years later when my older brother went to Denmark on his mission, he wrote back if our ancestors were ever at the castles, they were the servants—we had no connection to royalty. And, we had no connection to English pirates—our ancestors were hard-working Manchester weavers, dyers, and other peons of the textile manufacturers.

My Grandmother Hansen began my love affair with genealogy. I have always loved history and have been fascinated with the people behind the stories. With genealogy, I get to discover the people behind the names and facts. Each detail that I located in the dry documents fleshed out the stories of these people that I grew to love. When I viewed the marriage ban of Joseph Heaton and Maria Consterdine in Oldham, Lancashire, England in 1838, it shows that neither of them could sign their own name—but had an “X” and the comment, “his/her mark.” Yet, records of my Danish ancestor, Hans Peter Hansen Miller, a contemporary of Heaton, read Danish fluently as well as English and was the translator for their ship coming to America. I was confused by this, until while researching Bornholm, Denmark, the small island Miller came from, it said that Bornholm had the best educational system in all of Denmark, and put a great emphasis on educating every student—from 1400 onward. It is from my Miller ancestor that I read about the history of Danish/Swedish wars in a way that I’ll never forget.

My English ancestors all lived in a small area of townships in a six mile radius— Ashton-Under Lyne, Blackley, Chadderton, Newton Heath, Oldham, and the chapels they were baptized, married, and buried in were ), St. Michael’s (Ashton-Under Lyne), St. Peter’s (Blackley),  St. Matthew’s (Chadderton), All Saints (Newton Heath), St. Mary’s (Oldham).  If they weren’t found in those towns (usually one family would stay in that one township) I could be pretty sure they were not my family. 

The small townships near Manchester where my ancestors lived

My sister Ann and I share our love for genealogy, and we’ve worked together to do our work. Years ago I went down to Monroe to get a box full of Grandmother Hansen’s records from a Great Aunt, organized them, and when I was working full time and couldn’t do the work on them, I passed on the papers to Ann, who verified, researched and worked on them for years. Now Ann is working, and I’m working on the genealogy and sharing my discoveries with Ann. She documented all the farms on Bornholm where our ancestors lived, and put other things together. Now I work with Ancestry.com and online records (all the Danish parish records are on line), since I have better access than she does.

 

Bornholm, the tiny island where two separate families of my ancestral lines are from is a unique place. Although it is Danish, it is East of Sweden. It is now a summer resort. During the cold war, when Denmark was a NATO country, no NATO forces could be on Bornholm, because it was too close to Eastern Europe and Poland. Certain rights are given to Bornholm citizens that are not given to other Danish citizens. During the 1700, 1800, 1900s, all Danish males had to be on a draft list, and tracked wherever they lived so they could be conscripted into the army if necessary. This is a treasure for genealogists because they can locate males because of these army rolls, even if the men were not called up for war. However, Bornholm men were exempt from this rule. So if you are researching in Bornholm, you have a handicap. Because it is in the middle of the Baltic and has more visitors from other parts of Europe, it is more cosmopolitan than other parts of Denmark. 

Bornholm Island

Facebook Family History Groups

 One fun way to share pictures and histories is through FACEBOOK  groups. You can make a Family History group (see left side of FACEBOOK), share it with cousins, etc., then post pictures, histories, and encourage them to do the same and you can get lots more stories and pictures from everyone else.

Though my grandmother has been dead for 53 years, the love for genealogy that she sparked in me has only grown through the years! I hope I can share that love with my own children. 

I like to make family histories of my ancestors

I love to collect the family histories of my ancestors and try to make them available to other members of my family also. Where I once loved to imagine their lives, I now am obsessed with accuracy; I want to make sure every fact of their histories is correct! I think I learned this from the seven years I worked for the editorial offices of the Liahona magazine. Every fact was checked and rechecked. Even though the family histories are not to be published, I want them to be just as accurate.