Diane Johnson in memory of her Father, Robert William Johnson
For those of you who haven’t seen me since I was 7, I am Robert’s younger daughter, Diane. When asked to speak on behalf of my family, my big question was “Why me?”. My Sister said “Because Dad loved you the most.” For those of you who don’t speak the language of Elizabeth this translates to “I don’t want to do it”. My Mother replied “Daddy always said he never remembered a time when you didn’t talk, so it’s only appropriate to keep talking.” She speaks the truth.
It’s so difficult to know where to begin when summarizing the life of my Father. To me he was everything. As long as I knew my Dad was around, my world was safe. When I was six he taught me how to ride a bike. I have since forgiven him for breaking his promise to hold on to the bike the entire time. I remember gleefully reaching the end of the block still upright only to find my father standing halfway back. Initially I thought “how could Daddy lie to me and let go?” But then realized as with everything he did in life, it was to make me a stronger, better person. Sometimes a parent has to let go.
Every Saturday morning my Father would make his weekly pilgrimage to the dry cleaner and post office. While I’m sure he would have been content going solo, he always seemed thrilled when I asked to tag along. What could have been a peaceful time for him was anything but with me chattering on about the latest Partridge Family album or how Mrs. Lester knew how to make spaghetti sauce which didn’t come out of a can. Not only did he listen, he cared.
All throughout my childhood my Father had the ritual of parking the cars in the garage at day’s end. Before he would do this he would ask “Does anyone want anything from anywhere?”. My sister, Elizabeth, might answer a "popsicle" or "new fabric to sew a skirt". I would always say “world peace”. To be honest I was being sassy, not noble. But I knew if anyone could accomplish that, it was my Father.
I could go on for hours about all of the life lessons my Father shared or how grateful I now am that he enthusiastically sat thru too many long, boring band concerts but I won’t. I won’t because I can hear my Father’s voice say “Come on honey, make it short and sweet. These people don’t want to sit here all day.” That’s where you are wrong, Dad. These people are here to celebrate you and the difference you made in their lives. To remember all of the times you brightened their day with your smile or simple compliment.
Over the past several days so many of you have spoken immensely kind words to myself and to my family. All of the ways in which my Father impacted your lives on so many levels. Whether it be driving people to and from Doctor’s appointments or just providing a welcoming ear when someone was in need. I also heard some very interesting stories about my Father as a teenager – now I know why my Grandmother was prematurely gray!
As an adult every time I would see my Father he would give me a Ziploc bag of quarters for laundry. These weren’t rolls of quarters he just picked up at the bank as a convenience to me. Every night when he emptied out his pockets, he would separate the quarters and put them in neat little stacks on his dresser. While I certainly appreciated the kind gesture, the quarters grew to represent so much more to me than 25 cents. I knew that every single day my Father thought of me and how he could make my life a little easier.
When Elizabeth and I arrived home 3 days ago it was extremely difficult to enter the house. There was such a huge void and emptiness. Our Father would always greet us with a huge grin and outstretched arms ready for a strong embrace. To know the lack of his presence was the very reason we were home, made it even harder.
With tears streaming down my face, I climbed the stairs to my childhood bedroom. In the past few years my Father had begun to use the dresser and closet to store his belongings. On top of the dresser were 3 combs (odd for a man with little hair), a set of nail clippers and 24 quarters stacked neatly into 3 piles. Thank you Dad, those quarters don’t add up to $6 but are priceless to me.
Instead of being sad in thinking of this as loss, do what he would have liked. Be kind to a stranger for no reason. Give a donation to someone who has less than you do. And pretend you care about the 4th track on the newest Partridge Family album. You never know what a difference a small gesture can do to bring about world peace.
For those of you who haven’t seen me since I was 7, I am Robert’s younger daughter, Diane. When asked to speak on behalf of my family, my big question was “Why me?”. My Sister said “Because Dad loved you the most.” For those of you who don’t speak the language of Elizabeth this translates to “I don’t want to do it”. My Mother replied “Daddy always said he never remembered a time when you didn’t talk, so it’s only appropriate to keep talking.” She speaks the truth.
It’s so difficult to know where to begin when summarizing the life of my Father. To me he was everything. As long as I knew my Dad was around, my world was safe. When I was six he taught me how to ride a bike. I have since forgiven him for breaking his promise to hold on to the bike the entire time. I remember gleefully reaching the end of the block still upright only to find my father standing halfway back. Initially I thought “how could Daddy lie to me and let go?” But then realized as with everything he did in life, it was to make me a stronger, better person. Sometimes a parent has to let go.
Every Saturday morning my Father would make his weekly pilgrimage to the dry cleaner and post office. While I’m sure he would have been content going solo, he always seemed thrilled when I asked to tag along. What could have been a peaceful time for him was anything but with me chattering on about the latest Partridge Family album or how Mrs. Lester knew how to make spaghetti sauce which didn’t come out of a can. Not only did he listen, he cared.
All throughout my childhood my Father had the ritual of parking the cars in the garage at day’s end. Before he would do this he would ask “Does anyone want anything from anywhere?”. My sister, Elizabeth, might answer a "popsicle" or "new fabric to sew a skirt". I would always say “world peace”. To be honest I was being sassy, not noble. But I knew if anyone could accomplish that, it was my Father.
I could go on for hours about all of the life lessons my Father shared or how grateful I now am that he enthusiastically sat thru too many long, boring band concerts but I won’t. I won’t because I can hear my Father’s voice say “Come on honey, make it short and sweet. These people don’t want to sit here all day.” That’s where you are wrong, Dad. These people are here to celebrate you and the difference you made in their lives. To remember all of the times you brightened their day with your smile or simple compliment.
Over the past several days so many of you have spoken immensely kind words to myself and to my family. All of the ways in which my Father impacted your lives on so many levels. Whether it be driving people to and from Doctor’s appointments or just providing a welcoming ear when someone was in need. I also heard some very interesting stories about my Father as a teenager – now I know why my Grandmother was prematurely gray!
As an adult every time I would see my Father he would give me a Ziploc bag of quarters for laundry. These weren’t rolls of quarters he just picked up at the bank as a convenience to me. Every night when he emptied out his pockets, he would separate the quarters and put them in neat little stacks on his dresser. While I certainly appreciated the kind gesture, the quarters grew to represent so much more to me than 25 cents. I knew that every single day my Father thought of me and how he could make my life a little easier.
When Elizabeth and I arrived home 3 days ago it was extremely difficult to enter the house. There was such a huge void and emptiness. Our Father would always greet us with a huge grin and outstretched arms ready for a strong embrace. To know the lack of his presence was the very reason we were home, made it even harder.
With tears streaming down my face, I climbed the stairs to my childhood bedroom. In the past few years my Father had begun to use the dresser and closet to store his belongings. On top of the dresser were 3 combs (odd for a man with little hair), a set of nail clippers and 24 quarters stacked neatly into 3 piles. Thank you Dad, those quarters don’t add up to $6 but are priceless to me.
Instead of being sad in thinking of this as loss, do what he would have liked. Be kind to a stranger for no reason. Give a donation to someone who has less than you do. And pretend you care about the 4th track on the newest Partridge Family album. You never know what a difference a small gesture can do to bring about world peace.