Lightning flashed across the sky, turning night into day. Thunder rattled the windows of the house. A child tiptoed into her parents' bedroom and sat on the floor beside their bed.

In the darkness, a hand reached out and rested lightly on the child's head.

"Are you afraid of God?" a voice asked softly.

"No, Daddy," the child answered.

"Then why be afraid of the storm? God made storms so we could have flowers and trees."

The man quietly arose, took the child's hand, and led her back to her bed. He gently kissed her goodnight as he tucked the covers around her.

"Don't be afraid, Maggie. I'll always be near if you need me," the man whispered to reassure the child.

There, in the darkness, a bond of trust was born which through the years matured into a deep friendship made strong by a mutual respect for each as an individual.

The man was my father.

To most people my father was a failure. And, perhaps, by business standards, he was. But the legacy he left to me had nothing to do with his business sense. It came from the man inside. With love and patience, he taught me how to live in this world with dignity and respect for myself and others.

Dad had a special way of communicating his love for me or to set the stage for a lesson he felt I needed to learn.

In moments of tenderness, I was Maggie; in the kitchen, Cookie; and, during serious discussions, Sis. Though nothing was ever said, it was understood in the family that only Daddy called me by these nicknames.

He instilled in me a sense of independence, in the forming of ideas and beliefs as well as the direction I took with my life. He never forced me into a preconcerted mold of his making. And, even though he encouraged my independence, he was always there offering advice and guidance when needed.

Occasionally, my claim for independence of thought or action was not in agreement with his; but he was willing to listen and let me try my way. If it happened I was right, he never hesitated to acknowledge it. If I was wrong, he there to pick me up and gently shove me forward again.

When I was about 13, Dad taught me a lesson about being independent that has proved to be true through the years. It began over the issue of what type of shoes I was going to get for school. Dad didn't agree with my choice, but he was willing to let me exercise my independence. However, I had to buy the shoes myself with the money I had earned selling newspapers.

One evening, sometime later, as we sat at the dining room table, Dad said, "Sis, you were right about the shoes so from now on you can help decide what you want to wear. I know you thought I was wrong about making you use your money, but I had a reason. You see, Maggie, you must be willing to back your decisions. You are the one who will have to answer for the consequences of every decision you make all through life."

Not all of my decisions have been right. But my father taught me that even when I was wrong, I had not failed because I had gained experience to call on again and again. To him, there was no failure in making mistakes. The failure was in not putting forth an effort because of the fear of not being right all of the time.

From the time I was a small child, I was encouraged to be interested in all types of endeavors. At various stages of my growing up years, I took part in school plays and had mountains of notebooks with fashion designs in them which I had created by using a paper doll as a model. In my room were stacks of song books, books I wanted to read, and notebooks containing poetry I had either written or collected out of magazines.

While my Dad approved of my various interests, he saw that I had practical training as well by letting me work in the office of the dry cleaning plant he owned. He, also, insisted I do my share of the housework and that I learned to cook and sew.

Dad believed no matter how menial the task might seem, it deserved the best the person had to offer. He often said that any endeavor should be viewed as a challenge. Even though the challenge might not be anything more than finding a better way of doing something.

In most of the things I attempted to do, Dad's approval or praise was challenge enough for me to try my best. At all times, he was quick to give praise as well as constructive criticism.

At least once a week, he would shoo mother out of the kitchen and let me experiment with some new recipe. He always ate whatever I cooked. After each meal I prepared, I would wait for his opinion of my culinary efforts.

"Cookie, that was good, but next time try a little more salt," he might say.

I felt I had finally achieved the pinnacle of success as a cook the evening he said, "Cookie, that tasted just like what your grandmother use to make."

Interestingly, by the time I achieved this crowning accolade from him, I had discovered a love of cooking.

The challenge he set in the area of education, or learning, had a slightly different twist. To him, the learning process was a lifelong commitment. From the outset of my formal education he challenged me to find some bit of information of which he had no knowledge. I'm not sure I ever reached that point because somewhere along the way, I stopped trying to out-wit him. My hunger for knowledge was well entrenched by then and I continued to study because I enjoyed it.

Dad's teaching didn't stop with how I managed my life. He also taught me that I must live with other people in this world. He believed in human dignity. To him, all people were to be respected as individuals with hopes, dreams, and ambitions. He insisted that no one individual had the right to belittle the life of another.

One of the few times he showed anger toward me, was when I complained about the faults I thought an acquaintance of mine had.

To my surprise he shouted, "That's enough. Until you can say you are doing nothing wrong and have no flaws in your character, you have no right o condemn anyone. You are only lowering your own value when you belittle someone else."

Dad believed a person should adopt the Golden Rule as his motto and the Ten Commandments as his laws of conduct. If he or she did this, he or she would never have to be ashamed in front of God or man.

There were times when I was growing up that Dad administered punishment, for I was a normal, healthy, and energetic child. However, he meted out correction with generous helpings of love and understanding.

And so, my Dad walked with dignity through his life. Leaving behind a legacy of love and faith to live on in his children and grandchildren.

Now, when a storm rages, I seem to hear a voice whisper, "Don't be afraid, Maggie. I'll always be near if you need me."

Published:The Guthrie Daily Leader. Sunday, June 16, 1974.

Comments may be sent to me at granny@netsync.net

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