I am nothing like my father, at least that is what I tell myself. My kids probably think otherwise, just ask my younger daughter. “You’re a mean old man who doesn’t like kids!” she once yelled with her hands on her hips, for emphasis I presume. Just as a point of clarification, this was about 15-years ago and she was around seven or eight. Needless to say, at the time I got quite a chuckle out of it. I am nothing like my father; I wasn’t old!

My dad has been gone for about 6-years but he left his mark. I am nothing like my father. Growing up, I remember that he was always working; working in the yard, the garden or something else outside. He wasn’t a big fan of the winter months, the cold kept him inside. He didn’t care much for the heat of the summer either. I don’t have too many memories of him relaxing and enjoying the fruits of his labor. His lawn was immaculate, no weed would dare attempt to establish roots in his flower beds and the rows in his garden were straight as an arrow. He could make anything grow, but he approached his gift as chore and not as something he enjoyed. He took great pride in the appearance of his yard but he could have spent less time and no one would have been the wiser.

I on the other hand, have taken a minimalist approach to yard work; I do the minimum. I have my sprinklers on a timer, a bought the fastest mower that I could afford, and even after 25-years of marriage to someone who loves her flowers, I still have to ask which ones are weeds and which ones are to be protected. I run my vehicles through a car wash more than I wash them by hand. My garage floor isn’t swept, and yes, you will find weeds in our planting beds. I confess, I have been known to take out a flower or two with the mower or weed wacker. I think that Lisa is on to it; you can only blame so much on the rabbits and the squirrels. Like I said, I am nothing like my father.

He was a hard worker, a person of few words. He spent most of his career working in a factory standing by a machine but in reality I will always remember him as a gardener who, like so many of his generation, took a job as a means to provide for his family and not out of doing something he loved. He was an immigrant from the Netherlands, an only child who never spoke of his childhood, with only a reference or two about bombs going off. He would have been in his early to mid-teens during WWII.

He instilled in all of his kids that you work and work hard. After he retired from his factory job, he picked up work in a green house in the winters. In the summer, he would stop by my house or my office and critique the condition of the plants or parking lot. Then, without saying a word, he would take care of it and bring what needed attention up to his standards. He wouldn’t let me pay him and would take offense when I tried to help him out in some way. He was a proud person who didn’t think that he ever needed help. In the later years, after my mother passed away, he softened a bit and began to accept that he did. At times, he would accept it with grace, other times not so much.

I am nothing like my father? In so many ways, I am just like my father. Lisa will remind me when I am. Yes, he left his mark on me, some of the traits that he passed along are admirable, and the rest still get me in trouble with my family.

Thanks dad for teaching me how to work hard, tend to my lawn and to provide for my family above my own wants. It’s how I will choose to remember you.

Thanks for reading, liking and sharing.

Al Van Dyk and his faithful sidekick Ivy the wonder pup