As a child I think it’s safe to say that many of us saw our parents as super heroes. For me this was true. I saw my dad as “Super Cowboy.” He was amazing at riding horses, loved working cattle and from my stand point, was the most handsome man in the world. He ran fast, he ate an ice cream cone without it dribbling all over, he was able to turn my melted chocolate back to a solid and he told the best bedtime stories. These things made the perfect super hero. As I got older it seemed like everything my father did slowly lost its “super-powerness.” By the age of ten I still was in awe of my dad but I saw that he was human as well.
One summer we wanted fireworks so my dad and brothers went into town and got some. There was a lot of talk about a specific firework, the “ass-chaser.” As we stood outside and waited for my father to light the fuse, we all had our theories as to why it had such a name. Soon after, we all realized why it had its name. No sooner had my father lit it, did the firework begin to inch its way towards him. As my dad started picking up his pace, so did the firework until my dad was running and the firework was streaking across the road right behind him. Finally he cut to the left and the firework went zooming up and exploded. All of us kids erupted with laughter and excitement since dad was safe. Even he laughed as he went to pick up debris.
Most summers were spent working with cattle, more specifically, our steers that we raised for fair. This was to insure that each of us kids knew how to work for something. In the evenings we would spend time practicing showing our steers and getting help from our parents. Sometimes we fought over whom did the most work, (usually it was Christina and she never complained) and other times we would get frustrated with our animals if they didn’t comply with our demands. When I was fifteen, I learned the value of this work. I placed high overall in county fair and with the encouragement from dad and Shana, I went on to State fair. This was a big deal to me. It taught me how to really enjoy work, to take one for the team, even if it means giving up your fun time. It also taught me that the reward may not be the money you receive but the experience you have gained.
When I was nineteen, my dad taught me the value of making my own choices. Dad and Shana had both encouraged me to work at HR camp, so I applied, got interviewed and accepted the job. A month before heading up to the mountains I got a job at a Dairy Queen. At the time that was what I wanted. To be close to my friends, to go to concerts and to sleep in. However, in receiving some unwanted advice, my dad said that it would be a good experience and look good on my resume. Two weeks before camp, I realized I needed to go and I am not quite sure what it was that changed my mind. When I went to camp, I met several young adults who were in college like me, struggling to live a life that was pleasing to God, like me and who were, for the most part, comfortable with who they were (very much not like me). Throughout the summer I realized how much I needed to be reconnected to God and to my family. When I wasn’t at camp I would stop by and see my dad. Even after a camping mishap that landed me in the hospital, my dad understood that I needed to make that mistake. I needed to learn and like a good father, he let me. For the entire week after my injury (that kept me from working at camp), he would hear me tell stories of the people I worked with and how I acquired the nickname Hazardous Hannah a.k.a. the Haz. This decision to work at the camp has led to a series of more decisions and now I feel proud to say that I am following in my dad’s footsteps in getting my bachelor’s degree at CSU.
Today I see that my dad is a superhero. Although he never had a fancy utility belt or a spiffy costume, none of that was ever necessary. He equipped himself with truth, wise and precise words, a great sense of humor and sense of purpose. Everyone he met, he met with a purpose and a smile. His advice always came at the right moment and always seemed to be the thing many needed to hear. The last advice I received was “Focus”. It came up several times in the last couple of months but the theme and the words were always there. “Focus.” When it came to school, he told me we probably thought a lot alike and that the best way for me to succeed was to focus on one task at a time. Getting overwhelmed by everything at once won’t get anything accomplished. When I asked for his advice on whether or not to go to Nicaragua this summer, he told me to focus on what I thought was important at this moment. When it came to taking a trip up to the DMO, (when I had forgotten to wear close toed shoes and pants), he looked me in the eye and with one hand pointed his two fingers at his eyes and then mine and said, “Focus biatch.”
His words will always remain with me. Even as I think about his smile and what he did for our family, I think of my superhero and who I want to be like, my dad.
