Daddy's Life Sketch

How can I tell you about my Daddy? What would he want me to say? He wouldn’t say much about himself. He wouldn’t tell you about his important accomplishments or brag about anything he’d ever done. No. He’d tell you about the strangers he met at the store... or maybe even bring them home for dinner--no longer strangers, but his friends.  He’d tell you about his family. He’d tell you about his Grandma’s “snappy brown eyes,” or the antic of a grandchild. He might tell you about his love of travel and adventure,  or about the new rhody he bought for the yard. More likely, he’d ask you about you, and do the listening. It was not so much the words he spoke, but the life he lived that did the telling.

Daddy was born, as the story goes, at home during the middle of a snowstorm, on Abraham Lincoln’s birthday. February 12, 1923, in College Place, WA. He admired Lincoln, and took pleasure in sharing the day with him.

His parents, Virgil and Verda Burg Becraft, welcomed him into their hearts and did the best they knew to provide a loving and caring home for their burgeoning family. He joined brother Teddy, 14 months older.  Jaime, an older brother, had already died in infancy. Six years later sister Margaret joined the family, and after three more years sister Marilyn arrived. 

As I began this “life sketch” about Daddy, I began in  linear fashion,  from beginning to end, according to a timeline. I got stuck. As I pondered, I concluded that a sketch is not created from a starting line, but includes shades and shaping and adding detail here and there. It is with this that I continue. His life did have a beginning, and sadly, an ending--for those of us who remain. But it is not his ending, and in that, I take hope.

I’ll share some of the shading, the shaping, the detail.

Daddy was a vegetarian. His mother was, and his grandmother. To the dismay of some of the rest of us, he would hardly touch “fake meat,” especially if it resembled the “real deal.” He and Mom had some words about this on occasion. Hot dogs? What’s a picnic without? And by hot dogs, I mean Vega-links or Big Franks. He wouldn’t touch them. Tomato sandwiches with butter suited him just fine. He didn’t like mayonnaise or cheese, but he did like beans and berries and cookies, and sweets of any kind. Mom’s pies--he had two favorites: Hot and Cold. He had a sweet tooth. At Christmas time he’d reminisce about his Grandmother’s divinity fudge. He was diagnosed diabetic about 5 years ago.

Daddy loved water. Swimming. A cool dip at the end of the day. Whiskeytown Lake in the hot California sun. Mom would sit in her lawn chair and dangle her feet in the water. Daddy would immerse himself and swim for the floating platform off shore from which to dive. I think he’d have gotten a boat if Mom had shared this love. When he was 80, he came to Camp MiVoden with our family and went water skiing. Many are the water stories that we could share.

Daddy worked as an X-ray technician for the same group of doctors for nearly 40 years. My dear childhood friend, Marcia (who Daddy counted among his own),  became a radiologist and went to work where he had worked for so many years. She tells me he was legend there, in the finest sense of the word.  While working, he saw that x-ray solutions were being washed down the drain. He asked the doctors if he could save the x-ray solutions and retrieve the silver. I remember him breaking silver off the disks of his machine and filling coffee cans full of silver. He'd hide them in the back of the closet until the next trip  to Berkley to John Drew Smelting. He also received permission to cull old x-ray films from the local hospitals. We’d take trailer loads of film to the smelter as well. He helped pay for his children’s education with this side business. He taught us the value of hard work and ingenuity. Although being an x-ray tech was a respectable profession, I believe he saw himself in his earlier years as not measuring up to his perceived expectations of himself and others--doctor, dentist, preacher or missionary. I took pleasure in seeing him as he grew older in coming to a level of self-acceptance and peace in his own skin. It gave me hope.

Daddy talked fondly of hiking with his father--Mt. Rainier and other trails. He hiked Mt. Shasta at age 60. He spoke fondly of the Pacific Northwest, and as a child, I thought it must be close to heaven.

Daddy served during World War II in the army as a noncombatant. He loved his country, and he loved peace. The horrors of war grieved his soul.

Daddy met Mom, and Mom met Daddy. He fresh out of the Army and she yet a teenager. Their lives were never the same. Mom always said she “knew” immediately that he was the ONE. And he was. As the Daddy of five children, he loved and cherished each one. Each of us could shade and add detail to this sketch in our own unique ways. He unconditionally accepted and loved his childrens' choice of life partners. He delighted in his 14 grandchildren,  and his 3 great-grandchildren. Their friends became his own,  enlarging his "family."  All came under the umbrella of his love for God. This was the "stuff" of life that meant the most to him.

Always, Daddy and Mom had a heart for others. Ours was an inclusive home. Without conscious thought, so it seemed, Daddy carried a commitment in his soul to care for those who couldn’t care for themselves. My cousin says he wouldn’t be here today if it were not my father---and that includes my mother! My cousin lived in our home as another “brother” for a time. When Daddy’s sister Margaret was widowed at the age of 32 with 3 small children, she moved to Redding to be near. He loved her children, and did what he could. When his own mother and later, his father-in-law, became unable to live independently, they made their home with Daddy and Mom. I know this had challenges, but they walked their talk.

Daddy went on a mission trip to Nepal. This was a highlight of his life, and he talked about it, filled a photograph album with pictures, and longed to travel more. Going to Japan to see grandchildren were high points. His blue eyes sparkled each time he returned. I asked him a year or so ago what he wanted to do when he got to heaven, and without a moment’s hesitation, he said he wanted to travel to Pluto.

Daddy and Mom moved to Tillamook 14 years ago. This became their home. In this church and in our larger community, they found care and love. I remember the bank calling one day a few years back and saying that Daddy had walked to town, and needed help getting home. This community watched out for them, even as they had cared for others. Thank you all so much. 

As many of you know, Daddy and Mom came to live in Lee’s and my home a couple of years ago. They did so graciously, though I cannot begin to imagine the grief of losing independence. In their own home, before ours became theirs, they were neat and tidy, and things were orderly and in place. Coming to live in a home with a rowdy rambunctious bunch must have brought a longing at times for their place of quiet peace on the hill. Daddy never complained.  I count it a humble privilege that he could call our home his own.

Oh, I could say so much more!  The sketch is not nearly complete.

Daddy was a loving husband to my mother, a devoted father to his children, a loyal brother, an admiring Grandpa, a caring Uncle, a faithful friend, and a humble servant to His God. 

I miss him. I can hardly grasp that he’s really gone. I’m forever grateful I had him for my Daddy.