Our Dad
Expectations for fathers have evolved over the decades. In some cultures, it’s still common for children to only know their dad as the guy who is married to mom and goes to work so they can afford everything they have and will have. One of my good fortunes in life is having a father that worked very hard but was also present. Till our late teen years he worked multiple jobs, even running his own lawn care service for ten years. And yes, that meant he was my very first boss.
Although we didn’t see him much due to those jobs, his love for my sister and me wasn’t ever in question. Perhaps it was instilled in each of us when he gave each of us our first bath after we were born and home from the hospital. During our youth, my sister and I would usually bargain with him if mom said no, because we knew he was a softy and hated to dash our little dreams. When discipline was needed instead of the fun we wanted to have, and knew deep down that mom was right, we still went to dad anyway to at least have a yes in some fashion, even when mom stuck to her convictions.
When he wasn't working or sleeping, he was the one of the goofiest people I've ever known, hamming it up with anyone who would participate. When in public, he'd never shy to talk to anyone. It was often an annoyance to me when I'd want to get home as quick as possible to play video games, but it left a mark on me that connecting with people matters more than anything in life.
Our dad was born and raised in a household that was sustained by his parents’ farm and gardens. Working hard from dawn till dusk was the only option for the family to survive and thrive, instilling a strong work ethic in him and his siblings that continues to this day for them all. His dad was his first boss too and set the example I was privileged to be a recipient of.
Soon after I was born, he settled into what became his primary job that had him working third shift till I was fifteen years old. He was, and still is, someone who sleeps until he absolutely has to get up and ready to go anywhere. When my sister and I were growing up, we’d hear his alarm go off and he’d hit the snooze button. Back then we didn’t know much about the consequences of being late to work, except it would upset our mother. So, we took it upon ourselves when we heard the alarm to push dad out of bed so he wouldn’t be late! There were days where he wanted to sleep in and wasn’t thrilled about being pushed out of bed, but those were few and far between. Shoving dad out of bed became a fun ritual where he’d pretend to be sleeping and make it harder for us to get him out. He couldn’t stifle his laughter very well and his distinct chuckle always gave away his possum-playing intentions.
When I started working for him, I couldn’t wait to have my own money to buy my own things. I was 12 years old and craved independence and autonomy above my youth, and money was one way of achieving that goal. I didn’t really have much discipline at the time, but I learned the difference between doing something when it needed to be done versus doing it when I felt like it. During the school year I couldn’t wait to get out so I could cut grass. I was already spending the money I didn’t have yet, and I wanted to work more to get more things. What I didn’t know at the time, but realized later in my future jobs, was I was being given a real lesson in life. It was tough at first, but I learned how to endure adversity and enjoy suffering for the greater good.
For the first time in my life, I was able to spend quality time with my dad. It wasn’t something I realized I missed, even while observing other kids having much more time with their fathers. Still, it was nice to hang out with him more often, chatting about whatever he wanted while we drove to the next lawn to cut. All these years later, I’ll still drive to the areas where he had some customers to help me relive those memories. They are very fondly looked back upon by both of us, and never fail to entertain us while we reminisce about the three years I worked for him.
For my sister, she wasn’t shorted quality time either. She and dad would reorganize the garage when the time came. Our mom would show up on the job sites at times with my sister with some food and drinks if we'd run out of what we had or wanted something special. He would make sure to give my sister some attention while mom took over the lawn mower for a few minutes.
With the slivers of time he had, he'd make time for father and daughter outings. To her embarrassment, he'd call her his baby daughter to those he'd see when they were out and about. Nowadays, she embraces the title and signs everything she writes to him as his baby daughter.
When I worked for my dad from 1994-1996, the Packers were doing really well for the first time in decades. Not in the fluky Infante and Majkowski ways, they were a solid team worth cheering in a way that only compared to the Lombardi days. I will always cherish the times we’d do a lot of work on Saturday to be done early enough on Sunday to catch the end of the Packer games. The team of Jim Irwin and Max McGee was the soundtrack to those Sundays, hustling to be done early enough, yelling at the windshield to the picture they painted with their commentary.
Then there were the days we’d hit up the local go-kart track to reward ourselves for a hard day’s work. Sometimes our close friend Greg would join us, along with some of his friends and family when the timing worked out. When that group got together, some of us were sure to get yelled at by the track employees. We could also count on at least one of us getting booted from the track for the day while trying to one-up each other. It's a fond memory we talk about to this day.
Just because I worked for my dad doesn't mean I had it easy. He made me work a lot harder than I wanted to, yelled at me when I was slacking off, docked my pay when I didn’t do what he expected, and I barely had days off. He and I are both stubborn, and that made for some interesting days, but he always won. The only times he let me stay home was when my allergies were more than I could bear after trying different masks and/or over the counter medicines. When he was hard on me, he never made it about himself and never disrespected me. He simply expected more from me because I was his kid; he didn’t want nepotism to be why he hired me. He was consistent with it all and we learned more about each other as time went on.
Unfortunately, every boss I have had since then has had to work against the high bar my dad set as my first boss. Those bosses may have seen me as problematic or insubordinate. In reality, I have consistently been disappointed I've had to settle for less than what I was shown by my dad and his stern and respectful ways.
The business eventually grew so much he couldn’t keep up with it. He was trying to hold onto it until I was 18 and could take over, but it got to be too much and he had to sell the business when I was 14. It was successful but not enough to replace his full time income and benefits. It was a bummer for him, but also a relief of the burden it became. He was working a full-time third shift job as well as cutting grass, resulting in very little sleep. Thank God our mom was a competent secretary!
A harder worker than my dad is someone I’ve yet to meet. In some ways, it hasn’t been so good for me; I’ve burned myself out more times than I care to remember trying to live up to the example I was shown. Only in very recent years have I learned how to take better care of myself instead of working myself to the bone. But I’ll never forget the sacrifices my dad made just to make our lives comfortable while his was anything but.
After selling the lawn care business in 1996, we saw dad much more. He remained a hard and dedicated worker with just one job, and for the short time he worked a second part time job. In the twenty plus years since, our dad has become more and more comfortable with himself and his life.
There was a time a few years ago when I had nowhere to go. He took me in, but a couple months later kicked me out because I wasn't living up to what he expected of me under his roof. Even then, in my late 20s, he was still my boss looking out for me and making a hard decision for my benefit when it hurt him more than it hurt me at the time.
He’s made other hard decisions over time to get where he is now, and has done the best he could to make up for what he regrets. My sister and I are proud of how he has been able to overcome the adversity of being teased and treated much less than he deserved by his family and peers, especially in his younger days, to being a confident public speaker despite his still present stutter. Whether prepared or off the top of his head, his genuine good hearted nature always comes through.
That confidence has manifested itself with the courage to be more confident in other areas of his life. Despite what life has handed him, the fact he's remained a simple and humble man while learning and becoming better from his mistakes speaks highly of his character. When the times have called for him to stick up for us and go above and beyond, he was always there.
Last year, his parents passed away 63 days apart from each other. With class and strength, our dad mourned the loss of his parents, even with their deaths so close to each other. My original intention was to have this ready for Father’s Day, but coincidence made this more special; today marks his father’s 93rd birthday. So, on this day, my sister and I celebrate the man that our father is, the man who helped shape him, and we thank them and love them both. We don't even have to ask, because he's shown and told us that being our father will always be his favorite job.
Our Mom
Who doesn’t love their mom? In some regard, I’d bet everyone has love for their mother. At minimum, there should be an appreciation for at least having carried and given birth. Now, that doesn’t mean a lifetime of love and respect is earned, but making sure a healthy baby is born is a very difficult responsibility. My heart will always go out to those whose mothers couldn’t lay off anything unhealthy while pregnant. I’m forever grateful my mom realized that responsibility and made sure I was brought into the world healthy.
I’m not going to pretend my mom and I didn’t have issues. Our ancestors gifted us the lovely trait of stubbornness, which made my teen and early adult years very difficult for both of us. At times I couldn’t decipher between her love and anger, but I’m lucky enough for her to still be around in order to gain a full circle perspective. The years of tumult we put each other through have resulted in a great relationship with each other. She still embarrasses me and drives me crazy at times, but it’s still just part of her charm. Despite the rocky road it was, she’s come a long way from thinking I needed a “mommy” and has made efforts to understand me as a man with boundaries, instead of the boy she was raising and protecting. I am grateful God gave me a mother who made sure I was well fed and clothed and showed me examples of what to do and what not to do.
Some of my favorite foods are sour or fermented, and it's no wonder why. During my mother's pregnancy, she often would crave these same things, specifically fresh squeezed lemonade and pickled beets. How do I know this? My curiosity compelled me to text her while she was at work. Her eagerness to share with me showed through in the verbosity of her message and quick response. She described how her pregnancy with me involved patronizing a place that sold fresh squeezed lemonade every day on her lunch hour while working at a mall. She also remembered many restless nights that were soothed by a visit to the fridge that always had a jar of pickled beets. She even told me what she craved three years later while carrying my sister.
When we were old enough to read, she regularly brought my sister and me to the library for us to borrow books for education and entertainment. We’d fill a huge tote bag with books as long as we promised to read them by the time we had to return them. She made us laugh with her commentary while watching television and what she thought our cats were thinking when they’d do, well, anything. She brought us to a variety of restaurants on Friday nights before we’d go grocery shopping, and it was quality time we looked forward to.
Our mom has followed her mother’s example of selflessness and generosity, despite her not always having much herself. Her ears and heart have not been shut for my sister and me, even when it wasn’t easy for her. There were many times her maternal instinct overrode logic, like remembering things I totally forgot and not being mad at me for not having this post done for Mother’s Day.
Whatever life presented to her, she always did the best she could with what she knew at the time. A surprise gift here and there for no occasion other than she loves her kids is still something she does, and also gives us things she no longer needs or uses. My sister loves it when she gets a call or text from mom for a random shopping trip. They never tire of those adventures, especially their yearly trip to one of their favorite destinations.
What made this year’s Mother’s Day different for our mom is that it’s the first one she had to spend without her mom; our grandma. She was a sweet and special woman who showed us all what love and family are about, giving us a high bar to match.
No matter the company name on the top of any of her paychecks, or a signature at the bottom, the job she loved the most was also the most selfless; being our mother. Through everything all our lives, and there has been a lot, we’ve never had to doubt who we came from or if we were loved. And that’s why we love our mom.
To Grandma
You always spoke of milestones. You always said there’s a first time for everything. Well, like usual, you are right. This time, on this day, you aren’t here for us to share the laughter or sadness for such occasions.
88. Would have been, but not.
With all honesty, I can’t say you were gone too soon. This family was blessed to have you for so many years. And we all would selfishly love to still have you here. As you would also often say, it’s not meant to be. For as many years as you reminisced about your mom, dad, and other friends and family through the years, we know you’ve been ready for quite some time.
For us, though we miss you; all those reunions help ease the pain of not being able to hear your sweet voice, to see your beautiful smile, or to get the pleasure of sharing good news with you. You were our biggest fan.
Today is your first birthday we will have to celebrate without you here on Earth. Gone are the days of reciprocal renditions of singing happy birthday to each other on our special days. Gone are the days of receiving the love you gave us the other 364 days of the year. Despite all that, we were so lucky to get many lifetimes of love to last us well beyond when our time on Earth is up.
I am so fortunate that technology will allow me to forever save the voicemail you left me on my birthday last year. Anytime I play it I can’t help but cry. It elicits so many years of everything you meant to me and the rest of our family. Fortune truly shined on me to have you as my Grandma.
I’m not sure how other funerals go, but my grandma got two eulogies for hers. My uncle and I wrote and recited our own eulogies for this special lady. It was the biggest honor of my life, and we both did a great job.
Since I can no longer call her on the phone or visit her anymore, I will publish the eulogy I wrote for her on her birthday today.
Happy birthday, Grandma. At the seat of the card table your friends and family have been saving for you, I hope you have gotten many Royal Flushes. I also hope you and Grandpa have been dancing enough to catch up on over two decades of separation. I love and miss you more than I can find the words to describe it.
For Grandma
My name is Craig Elbe, Florence’s first grandchild. Oftentimes I’ve called myself her fifth child as that’s how she made me feel. She simply was another mother. Her sixth and youngest grandchild, Connor, can say the same thing. Even if there were twenty of us grandchildren, I’m confident her motherly love wouldn’t be diluted.
My first memories with my grandma, I’m told, involved me being very spoiled. I was simply too young to recall the bumming around I did with my grandma and whoever else was with us. There were many trips to many stores and restaurants, with a lot of time and love and money spent on me. Though those memories are not vivid for me, the genuine love she had for me was instilled and never left me.
Being filled with so much love before my conscious memory took hold removed any impetus to do anything crazy when I struggled with my confidence as I got older. My grandma set the tone for how to love your friends and family. She loved and cared for us all so much to the point of us all having an agreement to not tell her of any bad news until the situation improved enough to tell her. The toll bad news would take on her was too much to fathom putting her through it by seeking the solace her love and support provided without fail.
Very early in her life, my grandma found herself to be the peacemaker. Seeing both sides to situations informed her deep sense of empathy. She felt everything so much more than most people. For example, any time she’d read a card or note from one of us, she would tear up on the second or third sentence that expressed love and gratitude to her.
Whether it was just her and me or a room of people, I always found it entertaining how she’d run through the progression of her kids and grandkids before she’d land on the person whose attention she sought.
My grandma was the epitome of a people person. She seemed to find a way to the hearts of many people she interacted with. Her spunky personality and sense of humor was adored by all, from social gatherings to anyone who cared for her at any type of medical facility she was admitted to. Her smile and laugh could brighten any small or vast space, and I could always count on her warmth when life was cold to me.
She had many clichés as punchlines for jokes or to blow off some steam, and it was quite entertaining how she’d say them all like it was the very first time.
My grandma strived to see the good in everyone she met and saw. It wasn’t always easy for her but the effort was there despite evidence some people didn’t deserve her good heart.
Telephone conversations with grandma were always a joy. Most of the time, just saying goodbye was another conversation itself!
Walking into her home was a guessing game of what she was cooking or baking or canning. To this day I’ve not been able to find anything that was as good as her tomato juice or pickles. Anything else lacked the simple but essential ingredient of grandma’s love. What the perfect placebo!
Her refrigerator and walls were covered in pictures of the family, and she always had film in her camera for more moments to capture. What couldn’t fit on the fridge or walls found homes in the various photo albums she accumulated over the years.
While my sister and I were in school, grandma would bring us home when our parents weren’t able to. I’m sure she feared the worst for us walking home, especially once I got to high school and my sister was still in middle school. But, she didn’t want us to be home alone either. She was always my reliable ride to work and home when needed, and was always curious who I saw that day that she knew!
I started playing drums when I was a junior in high school, January of 2000 to be precise. Most days after school I had lots of pent up ambition or anger, so I went downstairs to play my drums. After a few months of practice, I was able to play along to some songs. When I’d begin a playing session, I consistently used the song “Home Sweet Home” by Motley Crue to warm up.
One day, after playing for a while, I came upstairs for a break. My grandma asked me about that song with the piano part in the beginning. I had no idea she was even paying attention! After some thought I remembered it was the first song, “Home Sweet Home” by Motley Crue. Right then and there, she told me she wanted me to play that song on my drums at her funeral! I couldn’t believe she made such a request, but I agreed to it then. It was the first time I felt like I was performing for someone. From that day forward, I always had a special bit of nerves while playing that song, even when she wasn’t there. Grandma being my first audience member seemed very appropriate. She was our family’s biggest cheerleader.
During the summer of 2000, I put myself in a situation where I had nowhere to go. Grandma was nearing the end of her 60s but without hesitation took me. Well, she may have hesitated a little because of my behavior at the time, but it wasn’t apparent. Grandpa had passed away just over four years ago at the time, so it was just her and me. Our only argument was about the length of my hair. She was upset I wanted to grow my hair really long, when all I wanted to do was look cool playing drums with long hair. It took me some years to realize this, but my grandma was just trying to protect me from the judgmental world.
The two months I lived with her finally started to break my rebellious nature. I learned what respect was, and that how I was treating my parents was very wrong. We were close before then, but her taking me in forged a special bond. Today, I’m proud to be the man I am. Those two months with grandma were the beginning stages of me realizing what it was to be a man of principle and character, and she was the only one able to truly reach me during my rebellious teen years.
At that time, she was receiving supplements and other household items from a mail order company called Melaleuca. Also at the time, I became a huge fan of the band Metallica. I had some tapes of some of their concerts and would play them while living with grandma. I never expected her to like the music so I only played the tapes with her permission. Out of the blue, one day she asked me if I was going to watch any Melaleuca. I was so confused for a couple seconds till I realized she wanted to watch Metallica with me! I had no idea she was even remotely interested in such music, and I doubt she really was. She was just being supportive of what I enjoyed and didn’t want to hinder my enjoyment.
The grace and class of how she carried herself was something to behold. Sure, she’d have her sad or weak moments that she’d confide in her close confidants, but she did the best she could with what she had and knew at the time.
Her frugality and tenacity was on display during one time I was visiting with her. It was in her last months of living alone. She noticed her telephone bill went up by about 8 dollars, so she called them up to have them reinstate the previous sale she had before the price hike. By the time I arrived to spend time with her that day, she proudly told me she succeeded in getting the sale price back. She said, and I loosely quote, “It took me till the third person till I got what I wanted, but it’s going to save me about $100 a year!”
While grandpa was living, he and my grandma did the “casino tour” of Wisconsin the short time he was retired before he got sick and passed away. We always knew when they hit the Royal Flush when they would show up at our house with some extra money for my parents, and we knew they were on their way to our other aunts and uncles to give them their share.
Their generosity was apparent, and she continued the trend after grandpa died. I became her casino partner some years later, and she always shared with me what she won but wouldn’t let me share what I won. All she’d let me do was pay for our lunch or dinner.
When I’d be out and about with grandma to bring her to some appointments or at the casino, people would often remark about how nice of a grandson I was to be with grandma. That annoyed me a lot. I genuinely enjoyed spending time with grandma and it wasn’t obligatory. I just wish I spent more time with her.
My grandma was very selfless and never made anything about herself. All she wanted in return was to be grateful and not take her for granted.
Recently, before she passed away, I went to her old house, then her old apartment. I parked for just a minute in each place. I wanted to soak up, one last time while she was still alive, all the recollections of days gone by of all the fun we had. While the memories were very present for me, sadly, those places just lacked the magic once present when my grandma called those places home.
This day is a combination of sadness and happiness for me. We all knew this day was coming, and I’m very grateful we were given a lot of notice, so to speak. The last time I saw her was while she was still pretty good and remembered the good times we shared together. I offered my last love and gratitude. The last time I looked at her face she had the loving smile and grace we’ve all been privy to.
For today’s service, I wanted to do something special for my grandma. Besides the anecdotes I’ve shared, I chose this outfit instead of the customary black colors for a funeral. These are the colors of the house she called home for over 50 years, and was the place she took me in during that summer of 2000. This is my tribute to that time in our lives where we became closer and for what she taught me with love and by example. This jacket is also the last, or one of the last, suit jackets she purchased for my grandpa before he passed away. She gave it to me many years ago and I’ve never worn it till today, and won’t ever again.
As the years have gone on, I’ve not felt right about bringing my drums and playing “Home Sweet Home.” Instead, I’d like recite the lyrics of the song most applicable to her:
“I’m on my way, I’m on my way, home sweet home. Tonight, tonight I’m on my way. Just set me free, home sweet home.”
Grandma, now that you’re home with your parents, sisters, grandpa and the rest of your deceased friends and family, I want to tell you it was an honor being your grandson. The way you introduced me to people with pride, even in your last days while you struggled for air, meant the world to me then and always will. Thank you for everything, and until next time, I love you.