On this day in 1937, Douglas Robert Mappin, my father, was born to Robert and Valda Mappin.
When I was younger, I always wondered why Dad was an only child; I didn't learn this detail until just a few years back, but Grandad and Grandma considered Dad their "miracle child" as they had been trying to conceive for quite some time and were almost ready to give up on ever having children.
In a day when home births were not all that unusual, Dad came into this world on the family kitchen table in their Royal Center, Indiana home. It was the only home Dad ever knew until he graduated from Royal Center High School in 1955.
Dad was well loved by his neighbors and his parent's friends. When I was a child, being the first born, I often stayed with my Grandma so that she would not be so all alone and the neighbors often regaled me stories of Dad growing up.
Even though I knew a lot about him, it still never seems to be enough. Dad was active in high school like so many young men, although I don't think Dad considered himself much of an athlete, like so many before him, Dad joined the Army not long after high school... and he later joined the Indiana National Guard.
He met my Mom at a local drugstore in Logansport, Indiana, and they married in October 1956.
If I could impart to you one thing it would be this: When you are young, don't be so self-absorbed with your own lives that you don't ask lots of questions about your family background. My Dad died young and I, to this day, wish I had asked him more about his parents. I know very little about my Grandad, sadly.
I think my Dad felt the pangs of being an only child... or maybe it was just the way things were back in the late 50s and early 60s.... Dad and my Mom had four kids, three boys, and one girl.
Things I remember: Dad yanking me by my arm and pulling me out of his Chevy II when I, my sister Teresa and really young brother Bryan snuck out of the house to smoke a cigarette one early Sunday morning. I can imagine Dad looked out of the living room window and saw his car's passenger cab enshrouded in a white cloud of smoke before tearing out of the house to find us in there. Yes, I got my bottom tanned. And yes, I remember it still.
When President Kennedy was assassinated, I remember how somber how our house was. Dad was a lifelong Democrat (like his Dad and Grandad before him). Dad (and Mom too) made sure that we kids knew the significance of what was going on.
I remember Dad teaching me to put models together. We shared a number of hobbies. I mentioned this the other night, but I recall one night in 1964 while watching "The Outer Limits," being so scared that I hid between Dad's legs. My hero!
Skipping ahead, after Mom and Dad divorced in 1966, we four kids, naturally saw less of our Dad. He did his best to see us as well as include our lives with his new wife Wanda, and as the years passed, four more brothers.
When I decided to go to college, I called him to let him know my decision. When I saw him later that week he and I went out for a beer and he told me with four boys still at home he would not be able to provide any financial support for my education. I knew that bothered him so I quickly let him know that I, being out of high school for nine years at that point, had no expectation that he owed me that. But I was touched by his support.
When I was a (first semester) freshman in college, now 27 years old (and Dad 47), he had a heart attack. It was decided that he would need to undergo a quadruple heart bypass and unfortunately his doctors misjudged Dad's condition. If we had only known they (not he) were not up to that challenge we would have acted differently and gone to a different hospital.
On a personal level, Dad and I had unfinished business when he passed. Dad didn't know me the way I would have liked. Additionally, Dad never lived to see any of his Grandkids, except my son Wes. There are so many more memories of Dad but needless to say I, and my siblings, all feel robbed that he left us so young. I do not think it farfetched to say I have 'father issues' that can never be resolved--at least not in life.
Dad was our rock, but to use an old cliche, no man is an island. I wish my younger brothers had had more time with Dad. My brothers Scott and Matt--as well as my son--were too young to have many memories of him.
Earlier this week, my friend Tom, after the death of his sister, made an observation that I find myself in agreement. Take lots of pictures of your family members. Lots. I have very few photos of Dad. My brothers do have more (and I need to get with them to scan them and add to my meager collection).
Photos or not, Dad is in my head, and in my heart... always.
When I served in Afghanistan in 2008, Rochester journalist Ann Allen interviewed me (via the internet) for my childhood hometown newspaper, the Rochester Sentinel. One of the letters to the editor said, "my Dad would be proud and that I sounded JUST like him."
I will be honest here, I cried when I read that letter. Every son, I think, always wants to hear those words. He was and is my hero.
Dad would be 80 years old today. I know I speak for my siblings when I say how much we miss you.
When I was younger, I always wondered why Dad was an only child; I didn't learn this detail until just a few years back, but Grandad and Grandma considered Dad their "miracle child" as they had been trying to conceive for quite some time and were almost ready to give up on ever having children.
In a day when home births were not all that unusual, Dad came into this world on the family kitchen table in their Royal Center, Indiana home. It was the only home Dad ever knew until he graduated from Royal Center High School in 1955.
Dad was well loved by his neighbors and his parent's friends. When I was a child, being the first born, I often stayed with my Grandma so that she would not be so all alone and the neighbors often regaled me stories of Dad growing up.
Even though I knew a lot about him, it still never seems to be enough. Dad was active in high school like so many young men, although I don't think Dad considered himself much of an athlete, like so many before him, Dad joined the Army not long after high school... and he later joined the Indiana National Guard.
He met my Mom at a local drugstore in Logansport, Indiana, and they married in October 1956.
If I could impart to you one thing it would be this: When you are young, don't be so self-absorbed with your own lives that you don't ask lots of questions about your family background. My Dad died young and I, to this day, wish I had asked him more about his parents. I know very little about my Grandad, sadly.
I think my Dad felt the pangs of being an only child... or maybe it was just the way things were back in the late 50s and early 60s.... Dad and my Mom had four kids, three boys, and one girl.
Things I remember: Dad yanking me by my arm and pulling me out of his Chevy II when I, my sister Teresa and really young brother Bryan snuck out of the house to smoke a cigarette one early Sunday morning. I can imagine Dad looked out of the living room window and saw his car's passenger cab enshrouded in a white cloud of smoke before tearing out of the house to find us in there. Yes, I got my bottom tanned. And yes, I remember it still.
When President Kennedy was assassinated, I remember how somber how our house was. Dad was a lifelong Democrat (like his Dad and Grandad before him). Dad (and Mom too) made sure that we kids knew the significance of what was going on.
I remember Dad teaching me to put models together. We shared a number of hobbies. I mentioned this the other night, but I recall one night in 1964 while watching "The Outer Limits," being so scared that I hid between Dad's legs. My hero!
Skipping ahead, after Mom and Dad divorced in 1966, we four kids, naturally saw less of our Dad. He did his best to see us as well as include our lives with his new wife Wanda, and as the years passed, four more brothers.
When I decided to go to college, I called him to let him know my decision. When I saw him later that week he and I went out for a beer and he told me with four boys still at home he would not be able to provide any financial support for my education. I knew that bothered him so I quickly let him know that I, being out of high school for nine years at that point, had no expectation that he owed me that. But I was touched by his support.
When I was a (first semester) freshman in college, now 27 years old (and Dad 47), he had a heart attack. It was decided that he would need to undergo a quadruple heart bypass and unfortunately his doctors misjudged Dad's condition. If we had only known they (not he) were not up to that challenge we would have acted differently and gone to a different hospital.
On a personal level, Dad and I had unfinished business when he passed. Dad didn't know me the way I would have liked. Additionally, Dad never lived to see any of his Grandkids, except my son Wes. There are so many more memories of Dad but needless to say I, and my siblings, all feel robbed that he left us so young. I do not think it farfetched to say I have 'father issues' that can never be resolved--at least not in life.
Dad was our rock, but to use an old cliche, no man is an island. I wish my younger brothers had had more time with Dad. My brothers Scott and Matt--as well as my son--were too young to have many memories of him.
Earlier this week, my friend Tom, after the death of his sister, made an observation that I find myself in agreement. Take lots of pictures of your family members. Lots. I have very few photos of Dad. My brothers do have more (and I need to get with them to scan them and add to my meager collection).
Photos or not, Dad is in my head, and in my heart... always.
When I served in Afghanistan in 2008, Rochester journalist Ann Allen interviewed me (via the internet) for my childhood hometown newspaper, the Rochester Sentinel. One of the letters to the editor said, "my Dad would be proud and that I sounded JUST like him."
I will be honest here, I cried when I read that letter. Every son, I think, always wants to hear those words. He was and is my hero.
Dad would be 80 years old today. I know I speak for my siblings when I say how much we miss you.
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