MY VIEW
Terri Hardy Grates: Dad’s love for life was a gift to us all
Dear Dad,
I can’t believe that, for the first time ever, celebrating Father’s Day in person with you is not an option. I’m glad at least that we were able earlier this year to celebrate our milestone 60th and 90th birthdays together. I sure hope I inherited your longevity gene!
Too bad you had to miss Alexis’ wedding, though. It was beautiful.
I can, however, still salute you this Father’s Day and thank you for the “roots and wings” you’ve given me over the years as you’ve taught me that “a father is not someone to lean on but one who makes leaning unnecessary.”
How can I possibly express my thankfulness for having you as a Dad; one who taught largely through example? I don’t know, but I’ll give it a try. No, I’ll more than try; I’ll actually do it because “doing” is the John Hardy way.
If I had to sum you up in one four-letter word, that word would be “verb.” Yes, you’ve always been a man of action as well as a man of courage, character and compassion. And such a people person. You were never content to sit and watch life go by. You lived it. You knew how to do what one of my daughters termed “take a big bite out of life.”
I think of you as a D-A-D who D-I-D. You were never content simply “to be” but driven “to do.” You didn’t just like and look at photographs, you shot them and developed them in your own, self-built darkroom.
You didn’t just sit and watch the 1972 Hurricane Agnes flood waters rise and rise and rise under the South Union Street bridge in Olean. You grabbed the canoe and helped evacuate neighbors and their valuables as flood water rose through their living rooms.
You didn’t stand idly by as our aged cocker spaniel, lost in a cloud of angry bees, sought refuge in Cuba Lake only to become paralyzed and begin to sink. You dove in — clothes, shoes, watch and wallet — and rescued her.
When your best friend lost the end of a finger in a table saw accident, who did his wife call to retrieve the fingertip and deliver it to the hospital so it and its owner could be reunited? You, of course.
You courageously waged war on and won skirmishes against a variety of cancers.
You were always there for whoever needed you, whether it was the wayward beagle that breeched the fence and wended its way from Olean to Shinglehouse, Pa., again and again.
Or the friend who once sheepishly called at 3 a. m. noting her husband and his vehicle needed to be extricated from a ditch.
Or a homesick daughter away for her first year of college in need of a lunch out with her Dad and a big teddy bear to keep her company in her Rochester dorm. You were always there to inspire and motivate, advise and teach me.
You may have been born a noun, but you sure lived life as a verb. You loved. You worked. You built, everything from bookshelves to cabinets to a cabin in the woods. You painted. You cleared land and planted pines. You fished, from local lakes and streams to waters near the Arctic Circle. You sang. You hunted. You photographed, forged metal and fashioned stained glass. You golfed and skied. You traveled. You played clarinet and cards and either tennis or handball or racquetball, I forget which. You danced.
I see your drive carried on in the lives of my brother and his sons as well as in my own daughters. I see that drive as your gift to us. I will keep you forever alive and well in my heart and memory. Love, Terri
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