[I am writing this moments from when the earth's northern hemisphere tilts maximally in its summer nod to the sun. And it's also Father's Day, a day when our young'uns take notice and tell us they really did appreciate our being around as they were growing up. I've always thought of Father's Day as being a consolation prize bestowed so as not to leave the blatant worship of mothers and Motherhood in too stark of a contrast on the calendar of annual family observances – giving the old man a nod now and then goes a long way to complete the picture. I invite readers to share a paragraph or two about how their own dads bent the twigs of trees now grown – I'll start.
My own dad was his parents' firstborn on the family farm, soon followed by a brother and sister. His dad (after whom I am named) was a gruff man with little education and a lot of energy and courage – a veteran of both the Russo-Japanese War and the Estonian Revolution. The farm was supposed to go to my dad, but he had been drafted, served in the Estonian Army's Signal Corps, seen the bright city lights, and was discharged as a skilled journeyman electrician. No farm life for this son of the sod.
With a friend he started an electrical contracting business in Viljandi, married mom, and was surprised when I came soon after Hitler and Stalin had started dividing up Europe. My dad's wisdom, recounted elsewhere in these pages, saved our collective hind ends when he got us out of Estonia before the Red Army invaded. During the war he was a hero many times over, saving us and others to enjoy our lives in post-war displaced persons camps and then emigrate to freedom.
My dad knew how to do everything – he was also an artist and artisan, but that's another story. The Rebanes climbed the economic ladder by working any and all kinds of jobs available, and buying and rebuilding fixer-upper homes. As a consequence my youth was filled with lots of work after school – that was not unusual, in those times it was the norm. Starting at the age of 11, my dad taught me to do everything needed to build a house. He was just following in his dad's footsteps, and let me know that I was starting out a little late. On the farm he already knew all the stuff I was just learning. Imparting gratuitous self-esteem was not his strong suit. By the time I was fourteen, dad had taught me to build an entire house from laying the foundation, through framing, roofing, drywall, electricity, plumbing, and painting. My proudest moments were when he came home from work, looked over a piece of work I had done after school, and said "That'll do." before laying out tomorrow's jobs. And then after mom (who also worked) had cleared supper, dad would get to work on the next building task. I grew up in a construction zone.
But my dad never thought for a moment that I would follow in his footsteps, he made sure my Job One was getting an education because I would be going to college, the first in our family to do so. After getting some years under my belt I would look back and see that everything he did was to enable me to have a better life than he and mom did. And then, without first checking with me, he died when I was 31. He left too early, and I still miss him. gjr]
rebanesruminations.com 
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