I helped a family move into the ward last week. It was a familiar scene - a bunch of guys from the Elders' quorum and a few of the more robust high priests moving up and down the ramp of a moving truck, taking boxes to different corners of the house as directed by the harried, obviously tired wife. They only had one truck (not three like some other people who shall remain nameless) but it was a big one, and it was well-packed.
My cousin, Scott, was there with his son-in-law helping schlep this family's boxes of books, pans, clothes, and whatever else. One fun thing about moving to Midland is that Scott Pennock and his family live here. The Pennocks were always celebrities at my house growing up. Aunt Fay and Uncle Bob's house was a dreamland for kids - an in-ground trampoline, a giant barn, a whole closet of toys and games in the day room, and, most importantly for me, at least a couple of cardboard boxes of late 60s/early 70s comic books. Literally, some of my earliest memories are of me poring over copies of Adventures in Space and Green Lantern every time we visited the Pennocks. Of course, my cousins Karen and Kathie were the lovely older sisters I never had. They doted on my brothers and me and put up with our endless supply of teasing and general gross boy stupidity.
Anyway, Scott is the oldest Pennock and was out of the house before I knew what was going on. I always knew of him (mission to Spain, law school, living in Florida) but never really knew him well as a person. So as luck would have it, he and his family have been in Midland (he works for Dow Chemical as a contract lawyer) for over twenty years. They are pillars of the ward here and have been a huge resource for us from the beginning.
The thing about Scott being the oldest is that he knew my Grandpa Sheffield better than we younger grandkids. For that matter, he knew my parents longer than I did. (A funny thing to say but true.) So it's been a nice thing to sit and chat with him (usually during the milling-around-BS-session that happens just prior to Priesthood opening exercises at church) about family. We trade funny stories about his siblings. (Everyone loves a funny story about Karen!) and we talk about my folks.
This is a really long way of getting around to something pretty small and insignificant. Last week when we were both helping this family move in, I had grabbed the bottom half of a rocker-recliner and was carrying it into the house when Scott passed me and said, "You know, I just got a flash of Dennis there just now. The way you bear-hugged that thing and just started hauling it into the house - that's exactly something your dad would have done." I laughed and told him that Dennis wouldn't have asked for help whereas there wasn't any way I could actually get it through the door and could he help me out? He helped me manage it through the door and we moved on to the next set of boxes.
It was such a small thing, but I keep thinking about it. Growing up, I always felt like I was the son who was least like Dad. Physically, personality-wise, all of it. I took painting lessons and acted in plays while actively hating being taught how to fix an engine or install drywall. I was emotional and talkative whereas ol' Dennis was...shall we say, not?
I really came to appreciate Dad and his ridiculous arsenal of skills and abilities when I got older. I wish now I had retained a lot more of the practical things he tried to teach me how to do. As I've written here before, he and I became friends in that last fifteen years years of his life and I'm so glad that we did.
But I still don't think of myself as particularly Dennis-y and a lot of the time I wish I was more so. His problem-solving skills, his wisdom and facility with finances, his laconic "let's just get it fixed" attitude, his titanic work ethic. There was so much in him that I see lacking in myself. Having Scott see some insignificant flash of Dad in me makes me both happy and sad. I'm glad there are bits of him in me (even if it is only the way I manhandle furniture), but as always, I'm just sad that he's not around to be the real deal.
1 comment:
WHAT ??? Two posts in a week ? Thank goodness. Perhaps this portends a "roll".
Anyway -y-y , as to content : I cannot think of anything nicer for you than to have someone recognize the "Dennis" in you. That being said, there is something equally wonderful about the "Laurie" in you that we recognize, too.
I always think of both Vicki and I as looking more like Dad, acting more like Dad, and generally being more like Dad, so when some blast from my past suggests I am "certainly my Mother's daughter" I am at odds as to how to take it. I am sure it is meant as a compliment, so I try to be gracious in receiving which, as it turns out, is more like my Mother.
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