dad
Growing up, our house was often filled with country music. Some of it my sisters and I liked, and some we didn’t. We were, after all, a part of the Rock and Roll era. Of those songs, I really liked the ones that told a story the best…still do in fact, especially when it concerns historical events. One song that we heard many times was called, “Sink the Bismarck” by Johnny Horton. It was a song with words that were easy to learn, and I quickly knew it by heart. I’ve never forgotten that song. At the time the words really meant nothing to me, but I’m sure they meant something to my dad.
The Bismarck was a German battleship. It was the first of two Bismarck class battleships built for Nazi Germany’s Kriegsmarine. Its sister ship was the Tirpitz. The two ships were the largest battleships ever built by Germany, and two of the largest built by any European power. The Bismarck was named for Chancellor Otto von Bismarck, the primary force behind the unification of Germany in 1871. It was commissioned on August 24, 1940. These ships had huge guns…according to the song, “guns as big as steers 
and shells as big as trees.” The Bismarck had been dubbed the “Terror of the Sea.” The British generals had heard all about this ship, and there was serious cause for concern, because it could do horrible damage.
At this point in World War II, the only way move through the war zone with relative safety was to be on a U-Boat. In May 1941, the Bismarck was ordered to break out into the Atlantic. Once it was safely in the open ocean, it would be very hard to track. Then it could wreak havoc on the Allied ships. The British heard of the plans, and sent the battle cruiser Hood and the battleship Prince of Wales in hot pursuit. They caught up to the Bismarck near Iceland and a battle ensued. The Bismarck sunk the battle cruiser Hood…it would be the only ship it would ever sink. The Hood was hit, exploded, and sank, taking with it all but three of the 1,421 crewmen. The Bismarck was hit but escaped. Nevertheless, it was leaking fuel and so it fled trying for occupied France. It was spotted by British aircraft and crippled. On May 27, three warships descended on it and sunk it.
Just as the song had said, “We gotta sink the Bismarck ’cause the world depends on us.” The British navy knew that this ship had to go, because if it was left alone, it would be repaired and it would once again wreak havoc on the Allied ships. The song has always remained in my head, but once I knew about the ships and the real battle that had taken place, it meant something to me, just like it had always meant something to my dad. I knew of the sacrifices, the lives lost, and the ship lost. This song was not just about some long ago battle that the world has forgotten, but rather it is about one battle in a war that can never be forgotten. And a war that would eventually draw my dad and many of my uncles into it before it was over, because the world depended on them too.
My grand nephew, Xander Spethman is just completing his last year of elementary school, and when his mom, Jenny Spethman told me that, I just couldn’t believe it. Where could all the years have gone. Xander doesn’t seem like a little boy to me anymore, I suddenly realized, but it still doesn’t seem possible that he is ready for middle school. I know that when my grandchildren started going to middle school, it felt strange to think that they would not all be in the same school as their siblings anymore. That is what my first thought was concerning Xander too. Would it feel odd that he wouldn’t see his brothers, Zack and Isaac during the day anymore. And would it feel strange for them that their big brother would be in a different school now. Maybe kids don’t think that way. Maybe it’s just me. and the way my mind works. It just seems so strange when the big brother, who has made himself his brothers’ keeper, will now no longer be there to keep a close eye on his little brothers.
Xander has always been a boy who takes responsibility seriously. Whether it is watching out for his brothers 
and sister, taking out the trash for his grandma without being asked, stocking shelves for the little neighborhood grocery story, or helping his dad, Steve Spethman work for days to help clear fallen branches in his neighborhood after a severe snow storm last year. He sees what needs to be done and he simply figures he might as well be the one to do it…an amazing decision for a boy.
Xander is a leader and not a follower. He has a God given take charge attitude. He leads other in the right direction and encourages them to do what is right. Xander stands up for God, and stays focused in the Word. His bed can often be found with his Bible on it, open to the last page of study. He talks about God to his siblings, parents, and anyone else who will listen. He truly loves the Lord, and that has made him a good listener too. He listens for Gods leading, and he listens to people too. He hears the things that make them happy and hears the things that are bothering them. Then he helps out where he can. Being a good listener is a rare trait these days. So many people can only focus on the tings they want to say, and they don’t notice that they are making it impossible for others to speak at all. But Xander is a true listener, and he makes sure that 
he understands what he hears too, so their are no misunderstandings.
Then, in his spare time, Xander loves sports, and anything that his dad is doing. He took hunter safety last year in preparation and anticipation of going hunting with his dad this year…and he can hardly wait. Having a hunting partner has been his dad’s dream too, and this year, both their dreams will come true. Xander is becoming a fine young man, and will always make his parents and family proud. He is also a great friend, and all of his friends enjoy spending time with him. What a great kid Xander is, and now he is moving up to the next level of greatness. Today, Xander is 12 years old. Happy birthday Xander!! Have a great day!! We love you!!
In the United States, you don’t often expect to become friends with a Russian man, but that is exactly what happened with my dad, Allen Spencer. Dad was working at WOTCO in Casper at the time, and his friend, Vladimir worked there as well. For Vladimir, the United States was the epitome of the word freedom. He loved the United States, and as an immigrant, who loved the United States, he wanted to learn the language. He was working very hard on it when he and my dad met. Dad was excited about Vladimir too. He had never known anyone from Russia, and really, never expected to. He told Mom and my younger sister, Allyn Hadlock that there was a Russian man working with him and he wanted to learn Russian so he could talk to him.
Dad bought a Russian/English dictionary, and began to study it. He had some specific phrases he wanted to learn, such as, Hello, How are you, Do you like America, and Do you have a family. Every night they sat down at the table to work through the dictionary, figuring out what he would say next. They also learned that certain symbols, 
some that we use today, could mean something very different in Russian. The American symbol for “ok” is a good example. In Russian that symbol, with the circle of the thumb and forefinger, is a cuss word. It is very similar to flipping someone the bird. They laughed about that one. Then, when Dad wanted to say Dirty Rat, Allyn told him to use that American symbol for ok, because that should do it. That really got them laughing, and it still makes Allyn laugh to this day when she thinks about it.
I think the thing that Vladimir liked so much about my dad was the fact that he tried to learn Russian, and that he reached out to a foreigner too. Vladimir and his wife didn’t have very many people that he could visit with…at least not in Russian. He was just so pleased that Dad was actually learning Russian. I’m not saying that Dad was fluent at Russian. In fact, his Russian could be considered comical at times, but the main thing was that he tried. Dad and Vladimir became the best of friends, and mom and Vladimir’s wife were friends too. They were invited to dinner at Vladimir’s house, and his wife made Borscht. Borscht is a beet soup. Now, I have to tell you that Dad must have really felt a friendship with Vladimir, because Dad hated beets, but he ate that soup. They told Mom and Dad that in Russia the people didn’t have very much meat, so their meals consisted of potatoes and vegetables. They were able to buy more meat now 
though, since coming to America, so when they had their American friends over for dinner, they bought meat for the Borscht…mostly because Americans are used to eating meat.
Vladimir and his wife wanted to be like the American people, because they loved this country. The did their very best to Americanize everything they did, because they wanted to be true Americans. This was the true melting pot…every foreigners dream, and they wanted to be a part of it. Dad and his Russian co-worker became good friends, and Vladimir always appreciated Dad’s efforts to make him feel at home in a new land.
Going through our parent’s kitchen was, for me, one of the more interesting parts of going through their house. Mom has had a salt and pepper shaker collection since her childhood, and while we have only scratched the surface of that collection, we have started to draw for them. As we have done so, I have noticed the differences in our personal tastes. We might set out five different sets of salt and pepper shakers, and we would almost always choose a different one for each. For me, a set that Grandma Byer brought back from Ireland for Mom had always caught my eye. They were castles with shamrocks on them, and so typically Ireland. They always seemed so special. Mom’s salt and pepper shakers were a part of who she was.
For some reason, many people are collectors. The collections vary as much as the people who collect them. I 
know that there are people who don’t collect things, and I suppose their houses are not as cluttered as those of us who do collect things, but somehow I think that maybe they miss out of something that comes with collecting. When you have a collection, you find yourself picking out things of varying styles, as your personal styles change. That is the interesting thing about collecting. Your choices never stay similar. Even with my own collection…spoons, I was able to find interesting styles that were different than any others I had.
And if you think men can’t be collectors, you would be wrong. My dad loved his coffee cups, and Mom even liked the coffee cups, so much so in fact, that before long they had matching sets of cups. There were the Spencer cups, the Al cups, and cups from 
the many places they had visited over the years. They even had a tiny cup with a mouse and cheese on it. I guess everyone needed a cup…no matter who they were.
I don’t know how Dad came to have his collection, but as I said, Mom’s started as a child and her feelings about salt and pepper shakers never changed after that. They would always hold an interest for Mom. As we have looked through the salt and pepper shakers we have come across, we can all see out mother, and we can understand why she found each one that she chose, and each one that was given to her special in its own way. I suppose Mom was more of a collector than Dad was, but as I said, I don’t think anyone is really immune to collecting.
My dad passed away on December 12, 2007, but since my mom was still alive, we never really went through his things…until after her passing on February 22, 2015. Mom had given out some of Dad’s things to different family members, but the bulk of his things would wait until her passing to be given to those who would receive them.
In his later years, my dad got cold often. That can happen as we age, or with surgeries to the chest or abdomen, which dad had to repair damage from Pancreatitis. More and more often, Dad could be seen wearing a sweater, and it really became a signature item for him. One sweater in particular that he wore almost daily, was a multi-shade blue striped sweater. He wore it so often, that it is one of the ways I picture him in my mind. I had asked Mom for that sweater shortly after Dad passed away, and was told I could have it, but did not receive it until now.
This was the sweater that Dad had on when he and Mom danced their last New Years Eve dance on January 1, 2007, just under a year before his passing. It was also the sweater he wore on his visits to the hospital when Mom was receiving Chemotherapy treatments for the Lymphoma Brain Tumor that she would beat in 2007. The blue sweater became synonymous of Dad…in my mind anyway.
There are many things that remind me of my dad. Anything World War II, of course, because I have written so much about his time in the war, and because we have toured the B-17s several times together, making the B-17 an integral part of my memories of my dad. Then, there are the funny memories of Dad, that always come to my mind…things like the whisker rub, our many debates, pretending to box with him, the Oregon Trail 
markers, the many vacations, and of course, the swatting games he played with the grandkids, will always bring back great memories of my dad. All of those things bring images of my dad and what an amazing man he was, but they are not things I can hold in my hands, and picture him if I use them. The blue sweater is.
Memories are the most precious things we have once a parent has passed, and I treasure every memory I have of my dad, as I do my mom, and there are things that will always remind me of them. And one of those things will always be that blue sweater. Today would have been my dad’s 91st birthday. Happy birthday in Heaven Dad. Have a wonderful celebration. We love and miss you both very much.
As my sisters and I were going through our parents things a couple of weeks ago, we came across our mom, Collene Byer Spencer’s diary. It was given to her by her sister Virginia and her husband in 1947, when Mom was just eleven years old. As we drew names for the different items we found, I received the diary. My sister, Allyn Hadlock had read a few passages from it, and thought it felt wrong somehow, but since Mom is no longer with us, I think it’s ok to read it. So tonight, I have been doing just that. The diary is a five year diary, and it was written in sporadically from 1947 to 1951. Funny thing about diaries…your well meaning plan to writing in them faithfully every day, always seems to dwindle into once in a great while pretty quickly. Having had a diary myself…wow, I wonder where that got to, and if we will come across it somewhere in all of Mom’s things. What things did I write in there that might be embarrassing? The rambling of a silly little girl…all but meaningless today. Well, all I can say is that I hope we don’t come across it.
That said, I do remember my own diary, and much like my mother’s it seems that at the age when a diary becomes so interesting, and all the rage, life always seems to take on a bit of the boring. I suppose that is because nobody’s life can be all bells and whistles every day. At some point, you always find yourself with very little to say about the day’s events. Life’s days aren’t often filled with daily exciting things that are worthy of filling the pages of a diary…at least not when you are eleven. I really wish I had maybe been a little more 
persistent about writing in my diary or a journal in later years though, because I now see the value of such writings.
I did learn some things about my mother, and even about my dad. Mom met dad when she was just ten years old. She told me that the first time she saw him she thought that he was the most handsome man she had ever seen. Dad was twelve years older than Mom, so when she met him, he would have been 22 years old, and at ten, Mom was just about getting to the age where boys were suddenly interesting, and an older man who was as handsome as my Dad was…well, it must have felt like meeting a movie star. Dad liked Mom right away, but probably not is a romantic way. He was a friend of the family, and so came to visit often. During the next few years it appeared to me that Mom had a bit of a crush on Dad, but maybe tried not to let everyone know that, because of the inevitable teasing that would go along with it. By 1949, Dad’s opinion started to mean more to Mom, and when she cut her hair to look more grown up and he didn’t like it…because Dad has always loved long hair, she was upset, and said, “I got my hair cut, and I like it. Al was mad at me, but he doesn’t have a lease on me, so how I wear my hair is none of his biz!” For his part, Dad told her he was going to grow a beard, and he did. She pretended not to notice. In her early years and even while Dad was coming around a lot, Mom was a bit of a boy crazy girl. I always wondered where I got that from, and now I know. I had a boyfriend from the moment I started school, and it appears that Mom did too, quite a lot.
By the time Mom was fifteen years old in 1951, Dad was already sure that she was the girl he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. Their romance reminded me a little bit of Laura Ingalls in the Little House on the Prairie books. Almanzo knew he wanted to marry Laura, and she did too, but her dad said they had to wait to marry until she was eighteen. In Mom’s case, it wasn’t her dad who thought they should wait until she was eighteen, but her. At fifteen years of age, she had to get to know herself first. In the end, they would only wait until she was seventeen, but it did not matter. Theirs was a match made in Heaven, and a love to last a lifetime. And the ramblings of a girl writing in her diary trying to figure out just how life and love worked while written sporadically, were clear to this reader anyway.
As we were going through our parents things after the passing of our mother, we came across several very old maps of different states, and also one that I received of London during World War II. It occurred to me that my sisters and I are a real novelty these days, in that we know how to read a map, and plan out a route to travel to anywhere we would like to go. I’m sure there are other people out there who can read maps too, but in this day and age of the GPS, many people can’t either. I’m all for technology, and I have a GPS myself, but I can also read a map, and that is because of my dad, and his determination to teach us that art.
Every year our family would take a vacation. Sometimes we didn’t travel very far, like the year we took a Wyoming tour, in several separate legs over the course of two weeks. Other times, we traveled quite a ways, like the years we went to visit our sister, Cheryl Masterson, while she was living in upstate New York. As students go, we were a novelty too, because every year when the teacher asked the inevitable question about what we did over the summer, we always had a story to tell. At the time, we didn’t 
realize just how blessed…and how traveled we were, compared to other students in class. I always thought that everyone took a vacation, but that isn’t so. Many kids got to go visit a grandparent or some other relative, but going to the same place every summer isn’t really a vacation.
Our parents were so excited about our vacations every year, and we would often sit down and Dad would show us the route we were going to take on our trip. It was during these vacation planning sessions, that we learned to read a map, and that we learned to enjoy reading a map. The map was never confusing or complicated to us, because Dad showed us how to read it. We knew the difference between an interstate and a state highway. We knew how to pick out the larger cities, as opposed to the small towns. We knew what states and what towns we would be traveling through, and we knew how to find the sights that were located in the area that might be of interest. We knew how to find campgrounds in the area, and how to figure out how far we could easily travel in a days time. All these things are on a map, if you know where to look for them, and thanks to our dad, we did.
I suppose that many people wouldn’t think of a map as a treasure, but for my sisters and me, they really were. We all had to have some of them, and every time we look at them, they will serve as a reminder of those planning sessions, and of all those amazing vacations we took as kids, with our parents. I have no problem with the convenience of a GPS, and in the big cities my husband Bob and I travel to, they are a great help, but if my GPS ever failed, I could still get us there with a map. It is a legacy that our dad left for his daughters. It does make us a novelty, but it is something we are all proud to be able to do, and thankful that we had the parents we had. Their interest in travel, and Dad’s teachings on maps clearly enriched our lives.
Going through your parents things after they have passed away, is one of the hardest and most time consuming things you will ever do. It is also one of the most rewarding. With the passing of our mother last month, my sisters and I now beginning the task of going through the treasures of their lifetime. Their house has been in our family for about 56 years, and in that time they gathered many things. Of course, like every long term household, there were things to be thrown away, but I think what really surprised us was that there were many things that we didn’t want to throw away. In reality, they really kept only the really good things…the treasures of a lifetime filled with love, laughter, and happiness.
There were treasures of our dad’s military days, including old newspapers from World War II, Dad’s soldier’s handbook, pilots manuals, and a training manual from his flight engineer training. There were baby clothes he had worn, as well as his Christian books. Treasures from their Silver and Gold Wedding Anniversaries, and souvenirs they had collected over the years. And there were pictures…lots and lots of pictures There were pictures from our childhood, pictures from his war years, pictures from Mom’s younger years, and Dad’s younger years…so many pictures. Of course, those will be scanned so that we can all have copies of them, and then we will divide them up. We didn’t even have much time to really look at them, but we could tell that they are treasures, because they are the stories of many lifetimes.
I don’t think that any of us could really fully comprehend all of what we had in front of us, but as time goes on, we will really realize what gifts we have been given. These were the things that our parents loved. They were the things that they searched for. Especially the souvenirs, because Mom and Dad loved to travel, and they loved to have mementos of those trips. They traveled to so many places. They truly, really lived, and the things they kept were the things that reminded them of all the wonderful times they had on those trips…their treasured memories.
I’m sure that as time goes on, there will be many stories to tell about all they things they have done in their amazing lives, but that will be a story for another day. For now, the biggest story of the day is the discovery of these, the many treasures of two lives so very well lived. Nothing held them back. They did the things they wanted to do. In fact, it never occurred to them to think they could do anything they wanted to do. They just went out and did the things they wanted to do. They built a beautiful lifetime, and then left us the treasures of that lifetime.
There are moments in every human life, when something that they have been trying to push to the back of their mind, comes to the forefront with no warning, and hits them like a ton of bricks…right in the stomach. Most of us have had them. They usually happen when you are having trouble wrapping your mind around a reality…that you wish was a bad dream. The passing of your parents or child, is a good example of such a reality. The loss of aunts, uncles and cousins have this effect too. In your mind, you know they are gone, but your heart refuses to accept the finality of it. Of course, I don’t mean the finality in that you will never see them again, because I know that I will see my parents and loved ones again. No, it is the finality of the fact that I won’t see them again in this earthly life, that really hits home in a painful way.
Those moments never allow you to be prepared for them, but rather they sneak up on you, and hit you at a point when you are totally unprepared. It’s times like new babies arriving, graduations, marriages, and other big moments in life. You think…I can’t wait to tell Mom and Dad…and then you realize you can’t tell them. It’s also the little moments when you drive past their house, or it happens to be a day when you would normally take them to lunch or dinner, or when you reach for the phone to call them, and then realize that they aren’t there. The sadness and loneliness washes over you, and there is nothing you can do about it, but cry.
The really hard thing about it is that you can’t stop those moments from occurring. So many things in life can be avoided by simply not placing yourself in that place or situation, but you can’t do that, because they were involved in every part of your life at one point or another, or as is the case with parents, many, many points. They shared every accomplishment, every failure, every hope, and every dream with you. They were the wind beneath your wings, lifting you up and encouraging you to soar…and now, you must fly on your own, because the days of training are over. Yes, that training goes on into adulthood too, even if you thought it didn’t. They have given you every tool you need for success in this life, and now you have to go out an make use of them on your own. Maybe that is why those “ton of bricks” moments are so hard. You want to share the excitement with them and you can’t.
And then, there are the “ton of bricks” moments, when someone remembers your loved one years after they have passed away, and they tell you what an impact they had on their life, and you can’t hold back the tears or remove the lump from your throat. You had no idea that your loved one would be remembered by people who you would never expect to remember them…but they had such an impact on those people, that they felt compelled to tell you about it so many years later. In all reality, I wouldn’t want to trade those special, but really 
difficult moments, because they mean that someone hasn’t forgotten my dad or my mom, or other loved one. Those moments mean that someone else saw what really special people they were. It meant that while they are in Heaven now, and I can’t bring them back, I can be reminded that they will always love me, and they will never be forgotten. The people who’s lives they touched, family, friends, and yes, even strangers, will always carry them in their hearts too. While those “ton of bricks” moments are hard, they are also very sweet, because someone remembered them.
When I think of my grand niece, Kaytlyn Griffith, I imagine a little girl of about three years of age. Of course, that is ridiculous, because she was born in 2008, not 2012. Kaytlyn has a beautiful smile, and a curious nature. Kaytlyn is the youngest daughter of my niece, Susan and her husband, Josh, and she went behind my back and grew to be a beautiful seven year old first grader. School might be a bit more lonely this year, because her big sister, Jala is in middle school this year, but I think she will adapt just fine. Of course, I don’t get to see her very much, since she lives in Powell, but her Aunt Machelle has kept me updated a little bit.
Kaytlyn is a goofy girl who loves to make funny faces and say goofy things. She is also very interested in they way people laugh. She finds that quite funny. I can agree with that, since I love to listen to the different ways that people laugh. Sometimes…especially for kids, the different ways people laugh can seem especially funny. And they can laugh about it…unlike adults sometimes…who are worried about offending people.
A while back, Kaytlyn was quite sick, and it was a horrible experience. She spent a few days in the hospital, and if she is like me, she doesn’t ever want to go back. This year, as flu season approached, Kaytlyn became somewhat concerned about catching the flu. I told her Aunt Machelle, that I can totally understand that, given what she went through before.
In reality, Kaytlyn is an all around sweetheart and very good girl. She has a seriously funny sense of humor, and will do just about any goofy thing to make people laugh. I recently saw a video of her, and I don’t know if anyone else was watching her at the time, but I know that I 
laughed and laughed. I suppose that most seven year olds are pretty silly…most of the time, and I’m here to tell you that Kaytlyn is no exception to that rule. A goofier girl there never was.
As Kaytlyn continues with her academic career, I know that she will be a good student, because she is as smart as a whip. From what I can see, she loves school, and all the activities that go with it. Last year was especially fun for her, when she got to be a tight rope walker in the Kindergarten Circus. I can tell that she really loved that. But then, Kaytlyn loves doing things that make her look pretty too. Today is Kaytlyn’s 7th birthday. Happy birthday Kaytlyn!! Have a great day!! We love you!!
