My dad turned 76 this past weekend. Considering that his mother lived to be 96, I am hoping he has many more years ahead of him. He lives here in Georgia, and I’m glad my boys are getting a chance to know their “papa,” as my eldest calls him.
My dad is a quiet man, and I mostly remember him working in the yard and on his boat or RV as a child. When we lived in Colorado, we had a large garden and several fruit trees, and sometimes I would help him pick the ripe fruits. Now I have the pleasure of watching my four-year-old help Papa in the garden, and he especially loves to help him fill all the bird feeders with seed. I wonder if my sons will remember all the birds they can see at Papa’s house.
I credit my father with giving me a love of the outdoors and an appreciation for travel. When I was a girl, we spent vacations on the road, visiting several of America’s national parks. It wasn’t until I was much older that I realized most of my friends didn’t have the opportunity to visit these places.
My dad loves being in a boat on some lake or ocean. When we lived in Nevada, we spent many weekends on Lake Mead or Lake Mohave, and sometimes we took long trips up the Colorado River.
I have fond memories of sleeping in the back of the boat, staring up into the stars. I felt very small under that immense black sky dotted with millions of tiny lights. Once I remember watching the moonrise above the lake, and to this day, I have never seen such an enormous and brilliant moon.
Along Lake Mohave there are some natural springs, and while we were there, we could park the boat and hike between the cliffs into a small oasis of green and hot running water. There were crystal clear warm pools of water to swim in and waterfalls to sit under.
Unfortunately, a trip with my dad always meant some kind of malfunction with whatever vehicle he was using. I grew up feeling like a vacation without someone towing us in or sitting roadside for hours with the hood of the RV open was not a real vacation. Once on a boat trip we were stranded overnight at a marina miles from home, and the next day we were pulled home by the gas barge and downwind from the dumpster.
But dad seemed to thrive on these mishaps, or at least it seemed that way to my young mind. He likes to spend time tinkering on vehicles or this and that. Some people, including myself, would not have the patience for it, but my dad always did. I also credit my father with giving me a love of photography. On vacations he carried two cameras around his neck — one for film and one for slides. Though I didn’t have a camera of my own until I was a teenager, I appreciated the art of photography, and I inherited my dad’s patience when it comes to seeing the world through a lens.
It shouldn’t go unmentioned that he also had a distinguished career in the Air Force and served in Vietnam, but when I was a little girl, that was just his job. I am grateful for his kind, quiet ways and the beautiful places he took me. Thank you, Dad. I love you and happy birthday.
Shelli Bond Pabis is a Winder resident and columnist for the Barrow Journal. You can reach her at writetospabis@gmail.com.
