Log Cabin Move Will Benefit Others
Faye Griffiths Johnson and I shared many things in our junior high school years - coveted positions on the cheerleading squad, crushes on the same boys, Saturday afternoons at Woolworths and after-school quality time at her house on 18th St. in Coeur d’Alene.
Her 23-by-20 foot house was made of logs, and a wood cookstove was the centerpiece of the living area. I learned to love Faye’s concoction of scrambled eggs with Worcestershire sauce and onion bits, served between two slices of toast. I also learned that pickles were just about the perfect food for any occasion. I was probably in my 30s before I learned that Faye’s mother had a real name; Marion. I just called her “Mom.”
The Griffiths’ log house was moved to Lutherhaven last week and will give schoolchildren a hands-on frontier experience. How odd that I never thought of the house as small. It contained big hearts, good friends and the best after-school snacks and conversation any teenager could want, and you can’t define that by square footage or amenities.
My father’s been called a lot of things in his 71 years on this earth. Carpetbagger, muckraker, right-winger and tax activist readily come to mind.
Decades ago I envied friends whose fathers were dentists and accountants. What a perfect world it would be to have a father who wasn’t always trying to change it. Call him what you will, but to me he’s Santa Claus, the Tooth Fairy and the Easter Bunny; and like most daughters I think my daddy’s the smartest man in the whole world.
It’s not easy being the child of a highly visible parent whose opinions often are controversial. It took me years and becoming a bona fide adult myself to realize how my life has been shaped by him. He taught me to respect all opinions, even those with which I don’t agree. He showed me by example that following your heart and your convictions isn’t always popular, but it’s important. His never-failing sense of humor helped me put a lot of things in my own life in perspective through the years.
When I committed a teenage transgression, I remorsefully asked him if he still loved me. His response was a lesson I later used to become a better parent myself. He said, “I won’t always like the things you do, but I’ll always love you.” Can there be a better gift than unconditional love?
My father’s always taken the time to be a good friend and neighbor.
He’s been unashamed to be passionate about his faith, his family, his country and his community. He’s instilled a sense of volunteerism in his children, as well as the value of doing good deeds quietly.
When I was younger I resented the time he spent on behalf of strangers, fighting for a cause. I wanted his undivided attention. Now, as what society defines as a senior citizen, he has more energy than I can easily muster most days. If I want to keep up with him or know where he is on any given day, I just have to pick up a newspaper. When most men his age have taken up golf or fishing, my father’s favorite hobby is still trying to make a difference.
As Teddy Roosevelt once said, “The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena … who knows the great devotion, and spends himself in a worthy cause; if he fails, at least he fails by daring greatly, so he’ll never be with those cold and timid souls who know neither victory nor defeat.”
No one ever has or likely ever will call Ron Rankin a timid soul. Happy Father’s Day.