Remembering the Peter Pan Man

Today would be my dad’s 78th birthday. If he were here today, he would be celebrating that Spring is arriving, flowers are blooming, and the garden is being planted by my aunt and uncle (even if it is not as big as he would have planted). I have been thinking a lot about my dad and his influence on who I am today. Most people believe that my sister, Robin, is the most like him; and trust me, I am not far behind. There’s a reason I was called “Little Pete”!

For years, I was resentful of how tough my dad was when we were kids. As I have gotten older, I am incredibly grateful for his influence on my life. I do not think I would be the person I am today–tough, resilient, determined, and caring–if not for my dad.

When I was little, he seemed like a giant. During college, I wrote a children’s book (never published) called The Peter Pan Man. In the book, I described what it was like to have a bigger-than-life daddy whom I was afraid of. I recently heard my daughters talking about a tattoo they would like to get in memory of my dad: the Peter Pan character from the peanut butter of the same name.

My dad loved his Peter Pan peanut butter, and he was ridiculously particular about the beloved jar that never left the table. If he opened it and the peanut butter was not smooth as silk on top, someone would be in big trouble. In his final days after his stroke, as my dad lay unconscious, Aspen and Charleigh giggled over this fond memory and whispered to him that he needed to wake up or they would start poking the peanut butter with a knife!

If you look up “tough” in the dictionary, there should be a picture of my dad. What I might not have realized when I was younger was that my dad’s tough demeanor and firm hand led to some healthy fear for me. I learned to have respect for guns and to never go to the river without an adult present. Looking back now, I realize that these rules were for my own protection. We can all learn a little bit from our parents’ generation about the importance of firm parenting and protection.

A few years ago, my dad suffered a bad injury at work when a faulty ladder collapsed beneath him. He was left dangling from a rafter until someone was able to get a new ladder for him to climb down. It is part of the reason he was eventually confined to a wheelchair. He had many reasons to be angry and give up. Although he occasionally gave in to anger, he never gave up. My dad was on crutches for years because he wanted to walk if possible. It was not until he was dragging himself through the house one day and realized he could not go one step further that he reluctantly accepted his wheelchair. While some would call him stubborn, I called him resilient.

Throughout my grieving process, I keep picturing my dad on the floor of his bathroom the day he suffered the stroke. I remember how helpless I felt. Then, I see images of him in my mind’s eye in the hospital bed at home, looking out at his land, his tractors, and his friends coming to visit. He was paralyzed on his right side and was affected by Broca’s aphasia, which gave him trouble with forming words. These images make me sad. So, I try to replace them with the memory of a funny thing that happened.

Just home from the hospital and bedbound, he had heard multiple doctors say that he would die within a few days. They assumed he did not understand anything, but he did. And even with the understanding of his prognosis, my daddy fought until the very end. He kept exercising the right side of his body and was determined to get out of bed. One of his few joys in those final days was eating popsicles. He started rubbing the popsicles on his neck and face. This seemed very out of character for my dad. I would say, “Daddy, don’t rub the popsicle on your face and neck.” He would look at me as if I were the crazy one. After a few days of this, I watched him carefully rubbing the popsicle again on his face, neck, and chest. It hit me! I asked, “Daddy, are you trying to see if you have feeling back on your right side?” In true fashion, but a little unexpected, he clearly and with annoyance responded: “Well, yeah!”

As the story section of peterpanpb.com shares, “We live in a world where age is an attitude and magic can be found in the smallest of moments.” My daddy gave us many of those small and magical moments–making us laugh with his unconventional ways of doing things. He taught us that if anything is worth doing it must be done right and to take care of others, especially when they cannot take care of themselves, and so much more!

Cheers to my dad today, the day that would have been his 78th birthday. To honor him, let’s go “spread some magic!”