Father’s Day

Today is the day that many people remember their Dad in a special way – perhaps by way of a new grille set, a socket set, golf club or some such other “father-esque” thing. Since I am 711 miles away from my Dad and he’s not much into golf, I thought I would write a bit about my father. My dad, Jim, taught me alot through my life. I was thinking about some of the things I watched him do and some of the things I learned.

Growing up, I knew my Dad as a deeply spiritual person. I watched him actively participate in our church life. From being a deacon, to visiting people on the bus route, to picking up deaf people, to shut ins, cooking meat for 800 guys, fixing things at the church, my father personified servanthood. He was the one you would call on because you knew if he said he would do it, it would be done. He was the guy who always stayed after to make sure things were cleaned up and set up. Dad was the champion of the down and outers. At least it always seemed that way. I can’t even begin to describe the people he helped over the years. We never had much growing up. You might even say we were poor. But I saw so many people who had so much less than us, and there was my father – helping them out. He visited those people who didn’t have family to care about them. Dad put shoes and clothes on the feet and backs of kids who had nothing, and convinced doctors to pay for medicine for those who needed it. I remember times when he would come home so late on a Saturday visitation with grease covered hand because he ended up staying at one family’s house fixing their car or another family’s house fixing their plumbing. Many nights I would walk through the house and Dad would be laying on the floor asleep with his Bible. (He liked the floor for some reason.) He loved Jesus. I knew it with certainty as a kid. He sang it, he preached it, he talked it and walked it.

Dad taught me about work. Ever since I can remember, I have been working with dad in some way or another. We chopped wood, went logging, built additions, remodeled houses, dug foundations, poured basements, and fixed cars… my whole life. Dad taught me about hard work and instilled in me a work ethic that lasts to this day. He taught me to not be afraid of hard work and the satisfaction of getting it done and doing it well. Because, he said, what we do is to give God praise with our hands. At the time I am sure I did my share of whining and complaining, but now, I would not trade those days for anything. Being in the woods with him and learning how to saw a tree, to walking a ridge on an Amsterdam house, I had hands on experience.

When I was a kid, I was pretty much convinced that my father was the strongest person in the world. My brother Matt and I, and later Sara, had many times of wrestling and mercy. I never did beat Dad at mercy. I still don’t think I could.

Dad was serious in demeanor to many, but he had a crazy side. He loved music and I recall him dancing on the rooftops (much to my grandfather’s dismay when he couldn’t get his attention over the headphones). Dad was the guy who would wear a straw cowboy hat, neon colored glasses, a wild shirt, shorts and hunting socks (the grey ones with the red tops) and boots and not even worry about what anyone said. He called his truck Buttercup Joe and always had a joke or a story to share. “So I says to my wife with the wooden leg… Peg…” and who could forget “the two Italians digging the hole while the boss was up top…” I loved that joke.

Speaking of stories… My father is an amazing storyteller. I remember how he used to tell us stories before bed. They would always be really detailed and of course always have a spiritual point, but sometimes they were so sad, and other times funny… I wish I could remember them now. But he also told the kids on the church bus stories, and it was the same thing. He would do the voices and many times you could hear the bus get so quiet as we sped through the hills of NY with Dad telling his stories. Later he would become Adirondack Jim and tell stories around the area. I never did get to hear any of them as I was here in Indiana, but I am sure they were captivating.

Dad and I didn’t always get along on some issues. In fact, I know there were times I deliberately didn’t agree with him just so that we would have hours long discussions. From late nights in the garage talking about election and predestination vs. free will to the discussion about the appeal of vinyl siding and energy efficient windows vs. wood siding and single paned windows’ aesthetics near the wood stove, I know that we covered the gamut. Often I would come home from college in the summer and spend time in the garage, not really doing anything but talking. Those were good times for me.

Dad’s an inventive guy. One of my favorite stories that I tell was the day he brought home the barrel. This huge barrel was sitting in a parking lot and somehow Dad got it. It was to be a sauna off the deck (which had not yet been built in the backyard). It was like 10′ tall and 6′ across. Something like that. Very very heavy. He had it on his tri-ax trailer hitched up behind his dump truck. So the day came when we were going to set it up. We dug the holes, poured the piers and everything was ready. He had a bulldozer parked half way down the back hill to catch it in case the would get away. The truck was backed along side the house and – I forget how – but he had some sort of pulley with ropes rigged up to trees and, I think, his Jeep. It also involved my mom and I pulling ropes. In any event, the barrel began to roll off the back of the trailer, mom and I pulling ropes, and then… SNAP! The ropes were old and broke, and down the barrel rolled and crashed right into the bulldozer. Dad laughed and said, “well aren’t you glad I parked that there, otherwise we’d be fishing that thing out of the crick.” (That’s how you say it kids… crick, not creek.) Anyway, we were able to successfully get it set up. Funnily enough, the barrel sat for many years and finally was torn down. I remember one time we had some left over roof trusses. Since we had no barn or garage, he often would work on the ground fixing vehicles. So, Dad, Matt and I nailed those trusses to some trees in front of his garage and hung big blue tarps all over it and plastic sides. Oh it was a hideous redneck monstrosity. In fact, that is what we called it. The monstrosity. But it worked… and stayed there for a year or two before he tore it down.

Anyway, I could probably write many more pages on all the events and happenings of Jim Petrillo, but I was supposed to be telling you what i learned from Dad. I guess, to make it shorter…

1. Love Jesus with all your heart, mind, and strength.
2. Love people, treat them well.
3. Respect nature, enjoy God’s creation…hug a tree!
4. Work hard. Work fast. Don’t quit.
5. Give. Be generous with your time, money, whatever you have.
6. Appreciate music – I don’t care what anyone says… Prairie Home Companion rocks!
7. Enjoy art, be creative.
8. Tell the truth. Always tell the truth.
(There are more I am sure…)

And the number one thing I DID NOT learn from my Dad…
1. How to shave. I don’t believe I have ever, in 33 years, seen a razor that belonged to my Dad. Amazing, but true!

But it is getting late (or early as it is now 1:43am). Dad, I wish you a great Father’s Day. May the Lord bless you and keep you: May the Lord make His face shine upon you, and be gracious unto you: May the Lord lift up his countenance upon you and give you peace. I love you Dad.