Lessons Learned From My Father

Last week, I took vacation after Memorial Day to tackle my ever-expanding list of projects to be completed. I started by building a cedar fence around my new propane tank. I am proud of how that came out since my son Ben Dresel and grandson Evan helped considerably with pouring and finishing the concrete pad the tank is set on. We oversized the pad to facilitate building the wood fence on the concrete to eliminate weeds growing up in the fence. Then, I had the enjoyable challenge of flaring the old tank to atmospheric pressure to remove all of the propane. (Be sure to check out my flaring video in another LinkedIn post!)

Next, I built a sizeable rustic set of shelves for my wife Kay with two 100-year-old doors that had been removed from our house during a total update a few years ago, making up the back to go all-in on the vintage look. The shelves were an enjoyable woodworking project that gave me an excuse to use my tools and skills. My wife is already making plans to display her collectibles on them.

Another project was installing an electric water heater in my shop bathroom to supply the bathroom, shop sink, and eventual office/living quarters. I’m slightly embarrassed about using an electric appliance when I could have used gas. Still, the electric water heater was appropriate to meet our needs, and installing an underground gas line for a single appliance was cost-prohibitive. To be clear, I’m not switching to Team Electricity!

There were other projects as well, like mowing the pastures, scraping the gravel driveway and parking lot to remove weeds, and more. Lots of fun, for sure!

When these projects came to a close last Friday, I reflected on the fact that I initially learned all of the skills I used to complete them from my father. My dad was a plumber by trade. However, he was also a skilled carpenter and craftsman. If Dad could sketch it, he could build it. No project was too complex for my dad. We constructed an addition to the house when I was a teenager. Dad began by drawing it out, he talked some friends into helping, and then we built it together.

I remember many early woodworking projects with Dad. I must have been ten years old or even younger when he first let me use power tools – under his watchful eye. Dad would show me how to do it and ask me questions to be sure I understood the processes and hazards. Then he would let me operate the tool, usually with one of his big, strong, calloused hands on top of mine. Dad let me use the power sander with his hand on mine, then the skilsaw, and so forth. Then he gave me more space and left his hand on my shoulder. Eventually, Dad would stand nearby, giving me an occasional nod or a smile of approval when I looked at him while using his tools.

When Dad put his hand on mine or my shoulder, I’m not sure exactly what message he intended to send, but to me, these acts meant, “I’m right here. You’re safe. Everything will be all right.”

Dad gave me reassurance this way too many times to count. When I became a teen and even a young man, he didn’t need to put his hand on mine, but he would still watch closely and give me those nods and smiles to let me know I was doing okay.

Dad used the same teaching methods for just about everything. Driving a car, operating the tractor, changing the oil, welding, plumbing: whatever the task, he was right there until I thoroughly knew the task and could perform it safely by myself.

As Dad aged and his health declined, he would sit on a bucket and watch me work. We did many plumbing jobs together that way. Dad sitting on a bucket next to the pipe or excavation while I dug the trench or made the connections down in the hole. As an aging man myself now, I feel bad that there were times I mistook Dad’s sitting on the bucket for laziness. “Why was he letting me do all the work while he just takes it easy?” Now, I realize he was teaching me and preparing me for a time when he would no longer be here.

Since Dad passed away, I can no longer rely on him to give me the correct answer when I run into problems. I only see his big hands, head nods, or smiles in my mind. However, I continue to benefit from Dad’s teaching. While sanding the shelves last week, I smiled at no one in particular, imagining Dad’s big, strong hand on mine. Dad would have enjoyed that project. He loved being covered in sawdust while passing the time cutting, sanding, staining, and finishing an interesting wood project.

Later last week, I thought back to that somber day in October 2020 when Dad died. Dad’s hospice nurse told the family to come to his bedside as he only had a few hours left. By the time I arrived, my sister DeAnna Dresel and her family were already there. Dad could no longer speak. He was lying in bed, slowly gasping for breaths – other family members, including my children and grandchildren, filtered in over the next few hours. My brother Gene Dresel arrived from Arkansas with his family. Deanna, Gene, and I took turns sitting with Dad. It remained unsaid, but we were determined that Dad would not leave this Earth without one or more of us holding onto him at that final moment. Dad’s nurse told us he could still hear us and feel our touch, although he couldn’t speak or move.

Dad valiantly hung on all night and well into the next day. He continued to struggle beyond the amount of time his nurse thought possible. At some point, Deanna, Gene, and I thought we should directly speak to Dad to reassure him in case he was fighting to stay for our benefit. The three of us held his hands, put our hands on his shoulders, and told him he had done his job. He had been a wonderful husband and father. We told Dad he had raised his children to adults, and we were now self-sufficient.

We told him, “We’re right here. You’re safe. Everything will be all right.”

A short while later Dad passed. It was a sad and profound moment. After the thousands of times Dad had reassured his children by placing his hands on ours and our shoulders, sending the message to us that everything would be all right, all three of his children were able to reassure him in the same way in what I’m sure was the most difficult moment of his life.

With Father’s Day coming up, take a moment to reflect upon the lessons learned from yours. Fathers may not be perfect, but in many cases they are among our first and most influential teachers. My dad certainly was my best teacher.