Three of us were able to make it to Florida for the funeral after our brother-in-law, Ray Pivec, had passed away. Our sister had married late, and they had no children. I remember teasing her when she was at college, asking her if she was having trouble finding a boy she liked.
“Oh, there’s lots of boys. I’m looking for a man,” was her reply. At the viewing, I noticed a number of fellows seeming to be in their early 20s. Chatting with one of them, he said that Ray had been his scoutmaster and had been the only father figure he’d had in his life. Ray may not have had any children of his own, but still ended up “raising” boys.
During the times we had for reminiscing, forgotten things came up along with things I had been unaware of. We had moved from the farm during the summer when I turned 10 and had slipped easily into the role as the chief groundskeeper. After I was off to college, then married and dealing with my own affairs, the younger brothers said Dad was never pleased with their efforts.
“Why are only part of the lawns mowed? Why didn’t you finish them?” he’d ask. Then add, “Brad would mow all the lawns in one day!”
The reply of needing something to do tomorrow flew over like a lead balloon.
Then the garden. We’d always had a big garden on the farm. Dad would plow it and disc it, then with hoes and rakes and shovels, the potatoes and other vegetables would be planted and later cultivated.
As a new town kid, still homesick for the farm, I took a spade and turned over enough dirt for a small garden in the back yard. I dug a ditch adequate to water the little patch and soon had radishes ready to eat after wiping the dirt off on my trousers. The sweet peas did well, but there weren’t enough of them to make it inside the house. After the second year, Dad would hire a fellow with a big rototiller on his little garden tractor to prep the garden spot.
Reminiscing, Neal mentioned the garden. “Dad would come home from work and ask why the garden wasn’t done. We’d reply that we got a start. Then he would go off with, “Brad would dig the whole garden with just a shovel in one day! What’s the matter with you guys?” He said it was the same thing with raking the leaves and trimming the evergreens in the front of the motel.
He said he grew up feeling like he could never match how Dad saw his older brother. I told him that I had no idea Dad was doing that; had I known, I’d have asked Dad to stop. I think this attitude is why Dad bought 50 acres outside of town, so he could instill some work ethic in his younger sons.
Dad thought he needed a pickup for his little farm. He traded his car for a short-bed Chevy pickup, with the “stovebolt” six engine and the three-on-the-tree transmission. Its previous owner had off-loaded it because the engine got “dusted” and was burning too much oil. Dad overhauled it in our backyard.
In his late teens, Dad and some friends purchased, for a “song,” an old Plymouth with a worn-out motor and overhauled it in one of their yards. The plan was to sell it and have some spending money. Their torque wrench was the Armstrong good and tight method. Thinking they were almost done, one of the fellows wanted to make sure the head bolts were tight enough.
It was the “Ping!” heard across the county as one of the bolts broke off. Dad said they never let that guy touch a wrench again.
When he could no longer get all the boys in the cab, he traded the pickup for a mid-sized station wagon. Dad’s luck held. He was soon overhauling that motor in the backyard, too.
A couple or three years later, the station wagon turned up missing. I remember Dad calling me on the off chance I had borrowed it. I had not. The Oregon State Police called Dad the next day. His car was found rolled beside the highway 150 miles away. He took the boys with him to search the area for tools, but they’d been pawned before the wreck, never recovered.
Last week, via text, that incident was brought up. One brother said that he was the one who left Dad’s keys in the car. I never knew. All I remember Dad saying about it was that the keys apparently were left in the car. He never shared with me who had left them. I didn’t need to know. So there’s one more happening showing why I respect my father.
