Journal of Sacred Work

“When I was a boy of
fourteen, my father was so ignorant I could hardly stand to have the old man
around. But when I got to be twenty-one, I was astonished at how much he had
learned in seven years.”
~Mark Twain, "Old Times on the Mississippi" Atlantic Monthly, 1874

 I love this quote because it reminds me of my own attitude
as a teenager. I was the fifth child born into a family of six children. I was
in a hurry to grow up. I guess, I longed to be accepted into the circle of my older brothers and
sisters.

We lived in the home my father grew up in since he was nine
years of age. Unfortunately, I never met my paternal grandparents. They
both died within 6 months of each other, stricken by cancer in the prime of their
lives. On a visit to Copenhagen, my brother Johnny and I
were surprised to discover that our home mirrored the design of houses in our grandfather’s native Denmark. An evergreen towered high above our two-story house. Mom
told me that years prior this tree was a family Christmas tree. After the holiday,
my grandfather planted it in the yard. In
those days, real candles adorned the Christmas tree glowing magical
shimmers on leaded tinsel.

I remember weekend mornings. Sometimes, my dad heralded breakfast
by blasting John Phillip Sousa music and ringing a big red cowbell with a lyrical-torturous
voice, “rise and shine sugarplums!” Back then, we did not find much humor in
his cajoling us to rouse out of bed. Oh,
but now I look back with sweet appreciation for how he gathered us at table for homemade pineapple muffins warm from the oven. Dad recreated many of 
Svea’s (my Swedish grandmother) delicious baked goods. He would experiment over-and-over until he
finally perfected her recipes. Even though I never met my grandparents I realize how much they were a part of the fabric of our lives and I can still feel their love pulsing through my veins.

Although dad was an only child, he was happiest when surrounded by friends. Our home was the hub of much company. Friends sharing in good times
and celebrating the simple pleasures in life. There was music, laughter,
plentiful food and drink, sometimes dancing, always laughter and
the best of times. This, for my father was the true essence of living love. His
friendships with people meant everything to him and he was a real kidder. My
favorite place to be was perched upon his knee.

My dad was 17 when he landed a job with King Feature’s
Syndicate, a newspaper firm in Manhattan,
New
York. As kids, my younger brother Tom
and I
would sometimes accompany dad  Saturday mornings to his work place. He
was a
foreman and accountant in the print department. It was interesting to
see
the papers absorbing ink and rapidly spurting out through the machinery of the huge press. After
33 years
of dedicated work, there was a merger and the company closed shop and
moved to Chicago.
Dad was without a job and suddenly it felt as though our world blew
apart.

Dad sat us down to discuss a family move.
He had an entrepreneurial spirit and bought a motel in Southern
Vermont. Only my younger brother Tom, (age13) and I (15)
moved
with my parents.  Pat was in nursing
school, Kitty was soon to marry and my older brothers Johnny and Phillip
remained in N.Y. It was a drastic change. Abruptly, I was without half my
family, childhood friends and all that was wonderfully familiar. It was a
difficult transition and you might say I gave my parents a gray hair or
two. I
tested my boundaries and their stamina.

 
Photo:Mom & Dad on their wedding day
My dad,  Philip Emil Sorensen, better known as Phil, served
as a medic in the army during World War II. Mom told me that our grandfather
had a connection with a high-ranking officer. This man offered my dad a way out
of serving in the military. Dad responded, “I think I will take my chances with the rest of
the boys.” Mom and dad were married and then he left for overseas for three long
years. Mom revealed that dad was in the Battle
of the Bulge but he never talked about the war.

Story has it, that dad befriended a fellow in his regiment by the name of Richard Imagawa. He affectionately nicknamed him “Smitty.”
At first, Richard did not want anything to do with my dad, but that did not
deter my father in the least. Eventually, they became the best of friends.
After the war, Richard became a renowned and beloved pediatrician here in Southern
CA. That golden thread of friendship is what ultimately drew our family to move to CA.

 
Photo:Phil, Liz & Lee Sorensen, Dottie & Merril Lawrence

However, after a year without work my parents decided to return to Vermont.
They purchased Lawrence’s Smokehouse
and learned to smoke ham, gourmet cheeses and ran a country store. My dad loved talking with customers and my parents made lots of new friends. Dad only returned
CA once for a visit, so I traveled with my family to see my parents each year. The reality was
that if I were to have a relationship with my father it had to be on his terms.

At 17, I worked evenings at the Brattleboro Retreat as a
psychiatric technician. It was my first healthcare job. Dad would drive me to work.
I remember his attempts to make conversation with me, but my responses were uncharitably
one-syllable answers. These days I find myself in a similar situation with my
younger son, John (21). Although I adore him, sometimes my overtures at conversation are received as an annoyance by him.

I remember overhearing my dad telling a friend once, “Lizzy is 17
going on 35!” Funny, but it was not until I became a parent myself that I began
to realize all that my parents sacrificed for my benefit. "Oh, so this is what
it must have been like for them"….with a new found appreciation. I look back at
the bittersweet moments of our precious time together with fond memories
and gratitude. I wonder if someday it will be that way for my kids too …

For all you fathers out there, wishing you a day of peace
and contentment, knowing that we are all just doing our best!

A Father's Day Prayer
Let us praise those fathers who have striven to balance the demands of work,
marriage, and children with an honest awareness of both joy and sacrifice. Let
us praise those fathers who, lacking a good model for a father, have worked to
become a good father.
Let us praise those fathers who by their own account were not always there for
their children, but who continue to offer those children, now grown, their love
and support. Let us pray for those fathers who have been wounded by the neglect
and hostility of their children.

Let us praise those fathers who, despite divorce, have remained in their
children's lives. Let us praise those fathers whose children are adopted, and
whose love and support has offered healing.

Let us praise those fathers who, as stepfathers, freely choose the obligation
of fatherhood and earned their step-children’s love and respect. Let us praise
those fathers who have lost a child to death, and continue to hold the child in
their heart.

Let us praise those men who have no children, but cherish the next generation
as if they were their own.

Let us praise those men who have "fathered" us in their role as
mentors and guides.

Let us praise those men who are about to become fathers; may they openly
delight in their children.

And let us praise those fathers who have died, but live on in our memory and
whose love continues to nurture us

                                                                                    By ~Kurt Loadman              

I heard this music on
Pandoraradio.com and experienced the beauty of this song without understanding
the words. I searched You Tube and I discovered this video that I wish to share
with you.Oh, beloved fathers!

 I am hopeful that you be inspired to tell your stories and share remembrances on this Father’s Day weekend.

~Liz Sorensen Wessel