My Hero!

Isn’t it funny how we imprint on a certain time in our lives, and every time we think of a person, we think of them as they were during this time? My own children see their grandfather as the cheerful, white haired, “sugar Daddy” that he has been to them. They envision him is his business attire. They note his quick, sharp mathematical calculations. They feel and enjoy his love of the outdoors. They enjoy hearing his flute playing. They listen to his thoughts and ideas regarding humanity. They love their grandfather. But they just about dropped dead when I told them that this successful business man, was the energetic dairy farming protector of my youth.

How I loved running down to the refet (dairy farm) to watch my Abba (Daddy) work! I watched as he milked the full cows, hooking them up to the funny machines that extracted the white milk.

“Tali!” He would call as he noticed me watching and motion for me to follow outside when he was finished. The machines were very loud.

Outside he would point to the cows that he named after my sisters and me.

“There! Avigile, the new one. Oh look! There is Tali. Did you know I named you after her?” He would tease me. I always knew I was the first. I knew where my name came from. But I always went along with the joke.

A few times he put Yael and I to work watching the cows to see which one was in heat. We watched which jumped on the other and told on the suspects. If I recall correctly, we had to write down the cow’s number. I think he had those numbers memorized—Dad was always so good with numbers! As a reward, we were allowed to watch while Dad artificially inseminated the cows. While this may not sound appealing to most, I found it an absolute thrill. There was nothing Dad could not do!  When birthing time came, we got to watch as he labored to deliver a breach calf—all the pulling and tugging, and then a perfect baby born. I was sure it was all Dad’s doing. I remember him coming home in the evenings, tired, sweaty, smelling of the refet. There was never a better scent to my young nose. At night I would kiss his prickly cheeks and loved how rough and manly they felt, though I would tease him that he needed to shave again.

When we lived in Shfeya, my sisters and I had a tree house. Some of the neighboring boys would come by and threaten to invade our little haven, and we had regular wars with them trying to maintain our territory. But once, the boys said that they would come and wreck our tree house. I was so worried. I told Dad. I’ll never forget his response, though he himself probably has forgotten the incident. He said, “If they try, I will break their bones.”  Anyone who knows Dad, knows he is not the combative type. For instance, at one time, he would carry candy bars in his pockets during his military service, instead of the required grenades. So this was an unusual response from him, but one that I found so utterly comforting, that I was rarely ever afraid again in my own home. Oh sure, it’s not something that’s “correct” to say these days. I can just hear the lecture I would give my own husband were he ever to say such a thing to our children, LOL! And of course, I know now, that there is no way Dad would have hurt the boys, after all, they too were just children. But the statement was what an insecure girl needed to hear. I knew he was strong, I knew that he loved me, I knew he would protect and provide for me. Indeed he always has.

I love you Daddy, you are my hero!

This entry was posted on Sunday, June 21st, 2009 at 1:54 pm. It is filed under Life and tagged with Father's Day. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed.