My inheritance

My inheritance

Sixteen years ago, in the middle of a typical sweltering Texas summer, we buried my dad.  It was, no doubt, one of the worst days of my life.  I was recalling that day while having lunch with my mom earlier in the week.  We’ve never talked about that day.  I still cannot bear to.  I would rather remember his life.

My dad grew up in Ohio.  A typical kid, but apparently very intellectually gifted.  When I was a boy we’d take family trips to see his parents who still lived in the house he was raised in.  I loved rummaging thru his old stuff.  He had a collection of Boys Life magazines from the 1940’s that I pored over.   His parents still had some of his old toys around for me to play with.  During one of my attic dives at Grandpa’s, I found his high school yearbook.  I read in it that his nickname was “Quiz Kid”.  (In a vivid contrast to him, if I’d had a high school nickname it might have been “Quiz? What quiz?”)

He graduated early from high school to join the Navy. (This was smack dab in the middle of WW II). He was able to take advantage of College scholarships and Navy benefits and earned a Chemistry degree from Harvard University and Applied Sciences from Brown University. 

Dad was recruited by Shell Oil Co., in Texas, so after the war, he packed up and moved south.  He was eager to get away from the Northern winters.  He fell in love, got married to my mom and they started their life together.  When the Korean War started he was called back into service.  I don’t know much of what he did during that time, but there’s a photo of him in Greenland, standing in the snow, next to a dog team.  (So much for getting away from winter weather). 

In the 1950’s he designed a house and had it built in one of Houston’s new suburbs.   I was born in 1955 and had an older sister and later a younger one.  We were your normal family, as far as I could tell.  In 1960 he bought 50 acres of newly cleared land which was an hour’s drive north of Houston.  It had a one acre lake and was a mix of open pasture and woods.  This was going to be his cattle ranch. By now he had fully embraced the Texan lifestyle.  He always wore western boots and a Stetson hat.

In 1962, when I was seven, he bought an old caboose from Southern Pacific Railroad and had it set up as a camp house for us.  We gave it a fresh coat of paint on the inside and slept in it when we’d spend weekends at the farm.  About this same time he bought a salvaged steel building and hired a contractor to erect the framework.  This was to be the barn.  Eventually, Dad and I added the steel panels for roof and siding.

His career at Shell blossomed.  He went from being a Chemist to eventually being the Mgr. of the Dept. that controlled the movement of all products that the Refinery made.  He was still in the Naval Reserves and went to meetings and training weekends. And he continued his college education.  He earned a Master’s Degree and later took all the course work for a doctorate in History.  His goal was to be a college professor when he retired from Shell. I cannot imagine how he did all that and still had time to sleep. 

Life was changing in the U.S. Our neighborhood and the schools were deteriorating.  The 1960’s ushered in race riots and Viet Nam War protests.  The unrest at many colleges soured Dad on the idea of being a Professor. He decided to move us to a safe, quiet community south of Houston.  This was an additional hour’s drive to his country property, but in typical fashion, Dad chose a better life for his family over being close to his farm.  He built a much larger house this time, located in an ideal setting of large oaks on a dead end street. Here we escaped the problems of big city suburbia. 

He didn’t let a little thing like driving two hours keep him from going to his property.  When I was in my early teens, we started building a modest weekend house at the ranch.  It was like a beach house, perched up on recycled treated wooden poles.  He figured it would stay cooler and have fewer bugs in it if it was 10 ft. off of the ground.  We spent many weekends and holidays working on that house.  The truth is that he did most of the work since I was also busy with sports and school.  Had I known I would one day be living in that same house, I would have paid more attention to the details.  My mom and sisters helped too, but their enthusiasm for the project was understandably low.

Time marched on.  I finished college after squeezing 4 years of education into 5 years.  I changed my major more times than some people change underwear.  I failed freshman chemistry and was on Academic probation my first semester of school (how is that for a glorious start?).  I somehow managed to pass chemistry the next semester, with a “D” and was happy to get it.  These results were from the son of the “Quiz Kid”, but Dad never said a word about my poor performance.  He let me figure out, on my own, how to succeed.

I got a job in the Energy Industry.  Soon married the fetching Mrs. Intrepid Traveler, and stayed in the Houston area.  We often visited Mom and Dad. When it was time to buy a house, Dad was there to help with the down payment.  When we had kids of our own and it was time to enlarge the house, Dad was there to finance the addition.  He was always there to support me. 

In 1999 my dad was diagnosed with cancer.  I had no clue it was so serious.  He was purposefully vague to me about what the doctors were saying. I assumed he’d be cured and live forever.   Even as I watched him deteriorate from the chemotherapy, it still never occurred to me that he would not eventually get better.  Whenever I would come visit during that time, his face beamed when I would walk thru the door. 

We were sitting on the back porch on one of those days, enjoying the early summer breeze, when he told me there would be an inheritance.  I did not know what to say.  I did not understand why he said that out of the blue.  What I wish I had said to him was, “Dad, you already gave me an inheritance.  You gave me your life as a guide.  You gave me everything I need to be a success.”  But I was too dumb to tell him. I just said “OK”.

As I write this, I am sitting in the house that my father built, next to his lake, on his farm, with his tractor in his barn.  I live in and among the things my father touched; what he built.  I am one of the things he built.   

Yes, there indeed was an inheritance.  My entire life.  Thanks, Dad.