Happy Heavenly Father’s Day

My real dad, or some might say, my birth father was a man by the name of Harry Sheaves. I named this blog after him. Bringing In The Sheaves is an old time gospel hymn that is hard to find in this day and age, even in old hymnals. However, when I was young, and people would ask how to spell my last name, I would tell them it was like the song, Bringing in the Sheaves. If you want to know what sheaves are, then go back and read my very first blog post, entitled, “Binding the Broken Pieces.”

My Dad was born in 1927 in rural West Virginia and was the youngest of 9 children. He was the son of coal miners and his own father, after whom he was named, died in the mines when he was just a toddler.

The only story I ever heard him tell regarding his childhood was that until he was 17 years old and got his first pair of glasses, he didn’t even know trees had leaves on them. He was hopelessly miopic and he is where I got my poor vision from. Not exactly something to brag about, but when I got my new lenses after my cataract surgery, I remember wishing he was still alive to witness the miracle of my sight. I, too, saw trees as big green blobs as a child, because I could not see far away, I too, didn’t realize trees had individual leaves until I got my first pair of glasses.

At 17, my dad enlisted in the army and was sent into the Korea. He had to lie about his age in ordered to get into the army! He was stationed in New Guinea and built runway tarmacs. He contracted malaria while there and was discharged for medical reasons. While in New Guinea he ate green bananas until they made him sick. I never knew him to eat a banana the rest of his life.

When he died, a few of the things I saved, were his wartime food card and his metal dog tags. Holding this delicate 60 year old paper rations card and identification tags make me feel closer to him. Knowing I held in my hand something that sustained him, fed him and kept him alive and identified him as the unique individual he was. It gives me comfort knowing he was seen by the world and his stamp on humanity is etched in metal he wore around his neck.

After the war, he decided to use his GI Bill and finally get his college degree. He attended New Mexico State University in Albuquerque and graduated with a degree in Geology. When we were kids, there was no one more fun to take a hike with than my dad. He knew every rock. When we thought we had found gold, he quickly informed us it was fools gold, or rather a rock call Mica. I think he is the one who gave me my love of the outdoors and showed me that a simple walk in nature could provide hours of entertainment. He taught me to look at the details in life. To study those things that most, who are in a hurry, pass by without notice.

When dad died, in 1996, there was no one I would have rather spent the weekend with than him. The years of smoking non filter Camels, which were standard issue in the Army when he enlisted, had caused him to have COPD. However, in the mornings, when he would come to visit, we would send my son off to school, and then sit at the breakfast table, drink coffee and visit about everything. Many a morning we would split the atom, whether it was life in general, or school, kids, marriage, family or relationships. He always had advice for me, but never once did I feel judged. His advice came with love. I always felt his love focused on me in a way no other. I admired him, I trusted him and I looked up to him as someone I wanted to be like.

He died when my daughter was just 2. He was in a nursing home by that time. His COPD also lead to heart disease and osteoporosis. We would go visit him and take him to dinner or lunch and would have to load up his wheelchair in the trunk of our car and tie it down with ropes. He always said how much he hated being the Beverly Hillbillies when it came to transporting him.

My son’s birthday is New Year’s Eve and he called that day to wish him happy birthday. He peacefully died in his sleep that very night. That last phone call was his good bye. If I had only known I would have told him again how much I loved him and how grateful I was that he was my Dad.

Thank you Daddy. When I get to Heaven I hope the Angels are singing your song!

Bringing in the Sheaves,

Bringing in the Sheaves,

We will come rejoicing

Bringing in the Sheaves!!