By Marjorie Hunt Kerns

I was the baby of the family and my dad's little girl until the day he died, even though I was in my thirties at the time of his death.  My place was on his lap until I was way too old, and being held became an irritation to me.  I always felt loved, never received a spanking nor remember being corrected with harshness or even impatience.  In his presence I felt I was perfect and therefore tried to maintain that image for him.  I remember a gathering at the house one evening when I was six or seven.  I can't remember what I was doing, but I looked over at Dad and thought he might be shaking his head "no."  The movement was so imperceptible I wasn't sure I was seeing it, but I stopped doing whatever it was that bothered him.  I was rewarded by a softening around his mouth.  Then I knew.

Dad was an accountant and office manager for Baker La Grande Grocery all while I was growing up.  You could have set a clock by his routine.  He worked from 7:00 to 4:00, ate oatmeal every morning except Saturday and Sunday, and came home for lunch.  Before I started school he would rock me to sleep in the big red rocking chair after eating, and put me down for my nap.  The first day of first grade I came home, sat on the porch step and waited for Dad's arrival home.  I'd had a very successful day at school (I hadn't cried), and I was feeling so big that I was afraid Dad wouldn't be able to lift me when he got home.  It was such a relief when he came up the walk, picked me up, and gave me a hug.

I remember Dad always knew how to calm babies and put them to sleep.  They looked so comfortable on his shoulder.  He thoroughly enjoyed teenagers.  Children between those ages could aggravate him.  I don't know what it was—too loud, too silly, underdeveloped sense of humor, something didn't click.  Without being told, I knew it was important to get my little friends out of the house before Dad got home.  Once I got in high school it was a total turn around.  He didn't like it when I went elsewhere.  He wanted my friends at our house.  Don had friends who had our phone number and our house address listed as their home, according to the card in their wallets.  Dad also gave Don and his friends haircuts.  It was obvious that Dad enjoyed the banter and joking with the boys.