My Father-in-Law

It was on a day during the summer of 1970, shortly after I ate my fill of dinner. I was informed, by my future wife, that I was also invited to my first meal with her family, even though I was past full. She told me that her father was a Mormon Bishop and I imagined a stern patriarch filled with self-righteous indignation. The first time I met Walt, he was sitting at the head of the table, enjoying a spaghetti dinner, looking neither self-righteous nor indignant, just hungry.

During the many days that followed and into the early years of our marriage, he never chided or scolded me for my weaknesses, he just aided where he could. He had an engineer’s intellect and was quick with math and could do trigonometry equations in his mind.

Our young family moved many times and he helped us along with car repairs, trailers, home projects and the like. He never claimed to be without fault and did not lean on false pretense or hidden agendas. I always knew where he stood on a given topic. He was forthright and honest and expected others to be the same.

His life was filled with meticulous work and he had struggled at all odds to make something of himself, despite a background that required he be on his own from about the age of twelve, until he married. He repeated many stories of his WWII military days, his struggles and successes. On one occasion, while on a troop ship, he suffered an appendectomy without anesthetic and in still another instance, after cracking some ribs, he acquired whooping cough, suffering intensely.

Walt and and his wife, Floy, were the only relatives that visited us while we were stationed in both the Orient and Europe.

During a beautiful time of year in Germany, we drove about in an old VW bus. Once Walt was hurt when we were sightseeing. After stopping near a roadside park, he challenged our young son, Scott, to a foot race. The ground was loose dirt and Walt fell, scratching his face and breaking his glasses.

The German optical shop took several hours to fix his spectacles, but Walt jokingly said it was worth it, because he won the race. That’s not the only race he won.

As Walt got older, he slowly lost his independence and my last memories of him involved sometimes seeing that he took his many medications, his breathing treatments and preparing his meals, including his routine breakfast of six waffles, covered with strawberry jam, alongside two scrambled eggs.

He often said to me, “Bill, this life sure is hard to leave. Sometimes it seems like the pain is not worth staying for.” Walt suffered his share of physical distress but his new home is much more agreeable. We haven’t seen the last of Walt. When it’s our turn, he’ll welcome us with open arms to the other side.