On this day
As promised, I am keeping things short and sweet again this week.
This day, in 1991 as in 2024, marks Father’s Day. As with pretty much every major holiday, Ruth wrote about this day several times. The year before, for example, she wrote about her husband, my Grandpa Bob. A passing comment in this week’s installment makes me suspect she did not do so in 1991 less because she was afraid of repeating herself and more because the grief of his passing three months earlier was still so fresh.
I ended up choosing her 1991 take on Father’s Day not just because the dates match up exactly, but also because I love how she takes a broad view of what fatherhood means. She looked beyond traditional definitions and practices for men who could help fill this role in part, I imagine, because her relationship with her own father could be quite fraught.1
Rural Reflections
By Ruth Dennis
As this Father’s Day approached I found myself thinking about some of “the other men in my life”—those who at one time or another played a special role.
First would be my grandfather who was always there to fill a small girl’s dreams whether it was for “a horseback ride on his knee” or “just one more bedtime story.” He called me “Little Miss Sunshine” and also “My Thundercloud,” depending on my mood. As we both grew older our relationship deepened. Many mornings I would get up early to go to his “Downyflake Doughnut Shop” and help him with the morning doughnut making. I realized in my pre-teen understanding what marks the Depression had made on this man and how he had not given up even if reduced to making doughnuts. Even though our time together was only during summer vacations I was secure in the knowledge that if I had asked for the moon, this beloved grandfather would do his best to fill my request. Every girl needs such a grandfather to make her feel special. Every woman needs to feel the pride and love I felt when I introduced my two small sons to my grandfather and watch him hug them and call them “Ruth’s boys.”
My two younger brothers are also “the other men in my life.” Most of the time I was their “big sister” and they often teamed up to get the best of me or to embarrass me in front of friends or a date. The difference in our ages, five year and eight and a half years, meant that we did not have the childhood solidarity that many brothers and sisters do. Yet whenever one of us was challenged, we were united as “the crazy Cornwells,” three of us to help each other.
It was my oldest younger brother, who at the age of 16, I asked to give me in marriage. That was a moment we both treasure dearly, matched in some measure when I held his first daughter as her Godmother at a church altar. The age differences have melted away in our older adult year. When in the recent months life seems to have overwhelmed me, a telephone call from either brother does much to restore my confidence and reaffirm their caring for the “big sister.”
My father-in-law was another one of “the other men in my life.” He was unsure of his son’s choice of a “city girl” from a divorced family but her reserved judgment.
His feelings for me mellowed even as he demanded much from me, all for his son whom he loved very much. I learned so very much from this man who was as well known for his stern mannerisms as for his quiet acts of kindness. I mourned his sudden death when his son and I had been married only eight years. He could have taught his grandsons much.
Besides these family members, there are “other men in my life” at one time or another who gave me lasting memories. One of these was our Westminster Fellowship pastor at Cornell. His congregation was college-age, facing major world challenges as well as those on campus.2 He encouraged each of us to remain true to our faith even when faced with peer pressure. He showed us that we could have good times without the “wild partying” we had come to associate with campus life. It is no wonder that many of us in that group at Cornell found our future husbands and wives at Westminster Fellowship dances, hayrides, afternoon tea and talk sessions and other events.
This minister also taught us a fundamental tenet that I have followed ever since. “Life rarely presents us with an either/or pattern but with a both/and choice,” he told us on many occasions. Over the many years since then, whenever I am faced with a major decision, I stop and remember those words and the choice and the path are much easier.3
My three sons are “The Men in my life.” And they have given me some very special “other men in my life”—three grandsons and one red-headed great-grandson.4
You can get a pretty good picture of Ruth’s father by reading some of our earlier posts: Today I reject the patriarchy’s bad ideas, April 1, 2001, and March 29, 1992.
My grandparents were at Cornell during WW II. World challenges, indeed.
Reading her both/and view of the world was one of those moments where it felt almost spooky how similar Ruth and I can be—I could have written that pretty much that same paragraph.
I have to laugh—and wonder—at Ruth’s emphasis on the color of my cousin’s hair, especially as my host mother in France had what now strike me as similar “observations”!
This is so touching and got me thinking about the men who played important roles in my life. My stepfather. My high school English teacher. Always, my brothers. I’m not used to thinking about the men in my life — women have always seemed more important in helping to shape me. This has given me much to think about.