Jim Criger

Who Was My Daddy? The title “Daddy” encompasses a lot when I think about mine. I’d like to share a few stories that illustrate who my daddy was to me. He was a man of few words, but “I love you” was easily invoked from him with a simple hug. The best way he showed his love, when I was going through a hard time, was to sit next to me and stroke my hair. All the stress would be relieved as he ran his fingers through my hair and assured me that everything would be okay. I remember when Mom, Dad, Eric and Roxann came to visit us in Germany during the time my husband, Gary, was in the Gulf War. A ski trip to the Austrian Alps had been planned before Gary’s deployment, so my family and I decided to continue our plans and go without him. We decided a vacation was the thing to do to help relieve some of the stress of doing “the military wife thing” and carrying on despite the circumstances. I packed my boys and family in the van and drove across Germany to the ski location. What I didn’t realize was how stressed I was with overseeing all the planning and driving across a foreign country with my family while my husband was at war, and that I hadn’t taken time to process the peril my husband was experiencing. So, when we got to the hotel, unpacked all the bags to find out mine was left on the bed at home in Germany, I totally lost it! All the stress I was carrying came streaming out in uncontrollable sobbing. I went to my room to cry and try to figure out what to do. After leaving me for a few minutes to grieve, Daddy walked into my room. He stroked my hair for the longest time, just like he used to do when I was a little girl and a teenager. He didn’t have to say a word, but I knew everything would be okay because my daddy would make sure it was. My dad was my encourager and my confidence was bolstered by the way my daddy made me feel like could do anything I put my mind to. He sat with me when I tearfully tried to figure out algebra story problems making me draw pictures to help me visualize the answer. He was convinced I could do it, and he showed me I could too. I managed to get an A in Algebra and continued to use his techniques in college. Another story to demonstrate his confidence in me was when I told him that my 4H club had nominated me to represent them in the Miss Rodeo contest. He didn’t laugh and say, “You think you can beat those Becker girls?” he just got to work training me on his cowpony, Cap. The best memory of that occasion was when Cap was acting up in the arena and Daddy yelled, “Cap!” from the grandstands. Cap straightened right up with little coxing from me and we went on to win the contest. Thank you, Daddy, for your confidence in me. He could also be very persuasive when he thought I was being a little too soft with his “get back up on that horse and try again” attitude. I believe that combination of gentleness and toughness helped make me a well-rounded, confident person. I think my siblings have many stories of their own that would illustrate the same for them. My dad’s patience was unending. This is illustrated by the countless hours he spent teaching us how to water ski. He circled us with the boat to get the rope to us, pulled us out of the water at the “ready” signal, and watched us fall in just a few short feet. He did it over and over and over repeatedly until we finally figured it out. Then we would want to try a new device like a slalom ski, or a board of some sort and he would start the process over again. I never heard him say “let’s try another day.” He would just hang in there until we were so tired, he would have to help us in the boat. He never gave up on us. Maybe this is just a story for Roxann and me because I think Dave got up on his first try every time. We hated him for that. His longsuffering is illustrated by the way he put up with me learning how to cook. When I was about 12 or so, Mom took a full-time job which left my sister and I at home to tend to things more than before. My task was to make the lunch meal for Dad and Dave. No matter how badly I messed up a meal, my dad just quietly ate whatever I had offered him and never said a word of disparagement. I was notorious for trying to start a Jell-O salad too late and often giving them a less-than set salad. My dad would just eat is right up fondly saying “It looks like we have another ‘sissy’s soupy salad’ today.” My daddy was also my protector. When I brought my “city-slicker” boyfriend home for an introduction, my dad, and most of my family for that matter, were not impressed. When eventually that boyfriend asked for my hand in marriage, my dad’s response (the politically correct version anyway) was “she 21 and I guess she can do what she wants.” Not exactly the response Gary was hoping for. We moved forward with a wedding and that day just after we exited the sanctuary of the church, my dad looked Gary in the eye and said “if you treat her right, I will treat you as my very own son, but if you hurt her, I will kill you.” Wow! how is that for starting out your married life together? I think Gary must have known my dad meant it, because he has “treated me right” ever since. To put a good ending on the story, Gary has been treated as a member of the family and over the years has become a beloved son to my dad. Daddy realized they had more in common than he realized and loved to spend time talking to Gary about flying and what it was like to be in the military. Also, I think Daddy mellowed just a little in his years, especially after he accepted Jesus into his life. My dad was always interested in being a part of my life. He did his best to be present at every event I was part of, whether it was a squeaky high school band concert, a football game in the rain, a college graduation, or travel across the ocean to see my family. I knew he was supportive of me even though I decided to marry an Air Force officer and take his grandchildren aw