Thursday, October 30, 2008
I Remember...
I remember our fishing vacations in Park Falls, stumbling out of bed and into the camper on the back of the pickup in what seemed like the middle of the night, us kids still in our jammies, driving for what seemed like forever.
I remember spending one vacation day tooling around the lake on a pontoon boat, and even though the cruise was a break from fishing, Dad still brought his pole and kept his eyes peeled for any swirl in the water that could signal a musky working nearby.
I remember fishing for pan fish with Dad, and him reminding me over and over again not to rest my pole on the edge of the boat, so I could feel the fish bite.
I remember swimming in the lake at our house, and the days I would talk Dad into throwing us into the air as high as he could so we could splash back to the water, over and over and over again.
I remember the early mornings, riding with Dad in the truck, headed out to work on the farm, Dad chewing toothpick after toothpick down to splinters, and pouring coffee into the cup of his Thermos while bouncing down the country roads without ever spilling a drop.
I remember the hours I spent on the lawnmower, including the day I ran over the flag pole, completely flattening it to the ground. But, I don’t remember Dad being mad about it.
I remember the football games, and the baseball games, and the wrestling meets, with Dad cheering loudly from the stands. And, he’s still been there as I’ve gotten older, at Ironman and ultra-marathons, “high-fiving“, cowbell ringing, and overflowing with pride at the finish line.
I remember deciding to go to the University of Iowa, in my family full of Iowa State Cyclones, but I don’t remember Dad ever trying to talk me out of it.
I remember Dad coming to help me move once in college, even though I hadn’t asked for help.
I remember Dad teaching me the importance of a firm handshake, but I also remember when Dad stopped shaking my hand, and started giving me a hug.
I remember when Dad began ending our phone calls with the words, “I love you.”
I remember Dad teaching me to always give 110%, to leave it all on the field, and to hold my head high, win or lose.
I remember learning from Dad, by example, how to work hard, and how to stand up for what you believe.
You see, I remember my Dad teaching me…how to be a Dad.
I remember spending one vacation day tooling around the lake on a pontoon boat, and even though the cruise was a break from fishing, Dad still brought his pole and kept his eyes peeled for any swirl in the water that could signal a musky working nearby.
I remember fishing for pan fish with Dad, and him reminding me over and over again not to rest my pole on the edge of the boat, so I could feel the fish bite.
I remember swimming in the lake at our house, and the days I would talk Dad into throwing us into the air as high as he could so we could splash back to the water, over and over and over again.
I remember the early mornings, riding with Dad in the truck, headed out to work on the farm, Dad chewing toothpick after toothpick down to splinters, and pouring coffee into the cup of his Thermos while bouncing down the country roads without ever spilling a drop.
I remember the hours I spent on the lawnmower, including the day I ran over the flag pole, completely flattening it to the ground. But, I don’t remember Dad being mad about it.
I remember the football games, and the baseball games, and the wrestling meets, with Dad cheering loudly from the stands. And, he’s still been there as I’ve gotten older, at Ironman and ultra-marathons, “high-fiving“, cowbell ringing, and overflowing with pride at the finish line.
I remember deciding to go to the University of Iowa, in my family full of Iowa State Cyclones, but I don’t remember Dad ever trying to talk me out of it.
I remember Dad coming to help me move once in college, even though I hadn’t asked for help.
I remember Dad teaching me the importance of a firm handshake, but I also remember when Dad stopped shaking my hand, and started giving me a hug.
I remember when Dad began ending our phone calls with the words, “I love you.”
I remember Dad teaching me to always give 110%, to leave it all on the field, and to hold my head high, win or lose.
I remember learning from Dad, by example, how to work hard, and how to stand up for what you believe.
You see, I remember my Dad teaching me…how to be a Dad.
David Clark Emmert
Love, Honor and Pride
Husband, Dad and Papa
December 4, 1937 - October 25, 2008
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