I feel as if I have told so many stories, over the years, about how great my mom was to me, and how supportive she was in everything I did. I suppose I have told the stories about her support of my beagling the most, at least in print. But she was my biggest fan in all things. I thought that this month I would tell about my low points as a son. I guess I will start with applying to college. Back then, Penn State was an affordable college for a working class kid (don’t look at the tuition today). By the time I went to college I knew my life had gone to the dogs. Penn State has a bunch of branch campuses, and the closest one to my hometown was Dubois. The mom grapevine had sufficiently convinced my mother that Penn State Dubois was the party Mecca of the universe, and she decided that I should not go there. Hell, I was willing to go as a commuter, and the money I would have saved in dormitory costs would have more than paid for a junky jalpoy to get me there! Ah, but the stories of the parties in Dubois made mama worry. So she had me apply to main campus, of all places!
One visit had me terrified. Not the parties, the size of the place was intimidating. I think it was 40,000 students then! So, after much begging, I convinced the university to let me go to my second choice, which was the Altoona campus.
“You were accepted at main campus!” The officials wailed, “Why do you not want to come here? Most kids would do anything to start here?”
“I really wanted to go to Dubois,” I said. This really boggled their minds, as Dubois was a very small campus, right next to the high school in town. Altoona was pretty big for a branch campus, and that is where I went, to start. University Park, the main campus, was so big that I felt intimidated by the number of students. The campus was bigger than my town It was a dreadful thought, going to Altoona, being away from home, and not running dogs. Dubois would have suited me fine, I could run dogs, take classes, and get along just fine with the students who also hailed from rural, north central Pennsylvania.
On move in day, I remember being less than happy. Granted, my best friend, Joe, was going to Altoona too, but I was probably one of the few kids that could have been happy commuting and not really having the “college experience” of moving out. All the kids said, “I love you” to mom and dad and parents went home. A few weeks later I was home for Labor Day, and dad said, “All those other kids told their moms that they loved them and you did not.”
I did not grow up in a house where people said “I love you” that much. Sure, we all knew it, and felt it, but it wasn’t vocalized. Not unless it was serious stuff—like surgery or a terrible accident and you were going into the emergency room! I say it to my wife and stepson all the time now, but that was not the way things were in my house. Looking back, I remember all those new college students with tears, saying goodbye with love. What were my thoughts? I was thinking, “Great, I am in Altoona, a city, and my dogs are hours away,”
I got home a few weekends that first semester, and I hunted rabbits hard. Dad was dying from cancer, though we didn’t know it, He had beaten cancer years before, and it had returned, but the doctors were treating him for back problems, unaware that the disease had advanced with a vengeance. Dad kept working, wincing with pain, and even rabbit hunted with me. I kept thinking it would be so much easier if I was in Dubois. Oh, by the way, comparing Dubois to Altoona, in terms of parties, is like comparing traditional brace dogs to SPO dogs. And comparing Altoona to main campus is like comparing UBGF SPO to LPH!
I only went two years to Altoona, and had to transfer to main campus to complete my degree. Dad had died, and mom was working a lot of hours, but would come to get me for a few hunting trips. I was in an apartment with 5 other roommates and it was a college apartment! Kegs. Messes. All that stuff. Not a pleasant thing for moms to see. I would run dogs in the places where dad and I always did, almost hearing his voice. Well, one dog. We had some good hunting dogs, and mom sold all but my old Duke dog. She was making minimum wage at a convenience store after dad died. I understand it now, especially since she got so much money for Princess, dad’s dog. Her pups sold well too. I was out hunting hare over Christmas break, and old Duke was slowing down. I stayed out until almost dark, waiting until I could shoot a hare in our limited Pennsylvania season. I could have gone home sooner, but I was bitter about the young dogs being sold. Hindsight being what it is is, I know it was for the best and those dogs had a much better life running rabbits all year than waiting for me to get home on sporadic weekends.
None of this is to say I was angry, or mean. I was just in flux—a full time student not knowing where I was headed. I graduated college and went straight to seminary, which made everyone in the family….confused. I guess I was always a bit rebellious, at times a hothead, and definitely not always gregarious or good at small talk. But I was thinking about the big questions—life, death, eternity, the meaning of life, and all those things that are part and parcel of life in ministry. What do I remember about graduation? Not wanting to go. It is a pretty impersonal affair at a school that big, and I was happy to let them mail my diplomas. Mom and grandma wanted to attend. I was sullen, and silent. My mind was focused on the fact that I had earned a couple degrees that were not real good for the job market until I went to seminary and finished. I regret not being happy. I had some relatives that had gone to college, but I don’t know that any with the last name of Ford had done it. Shoot, to be honest, a lot of the Fords in my family are smarter than me—mechanics, electricians, carpenters. I was the nerdy kid with a good memory and not much skill.
“Good thing you’re strong,” dad would say, “You got two options—unskilled labor, which is not going to be around much longer—or those book smarts. Skilled craftsmanship is not your thing!” I have relatives that can restore cars, build houses, and build roads. I once replaced a faucet handle without flooding the house, and I thought I was really being a handyman. Mom was happy at graduation, and I should have been too.
I was a student pastor in seminary and had a beagle. The one old beagle I had back home had died, and I got a new one. It stayed at a church member’s farm. Rural place, outside of town. By then, mom got a secretarial job in a construction company. I still remember the last time I saw her. I went to see her in Texas for Easter. The church I was serving told me to go, and gave me the Sunday off! No church does that, but they knew I wanted to see my mom, and I was a student. Mom and I went to the sunrise service, not many there. She died the following August. Her body was shipped back to Pennsylvania. I ran my dog at the farm for three solid days before I went to the funeral.
I wish I would have officiated the funeral. I thought I would get too emotional. The pastor put zero effort into the service. Never learned a thing about my mom. It was nothing but bare bones liturgy. Prayers and scripture. He had to think hard to remember her name for the few times he had to mention her. That night, I went to my childhood home and in the quiet darkness offered the service that I should have done. No one was there, but me, in the stillness of my backyard. I will never be too emotional to officiate a funeral again. I learned a trick that night. When I get too emotional to talk, I bite the inside of my cheek until it bleeds, driving away the tears. I’ve used that same technique at funerals to bury childhood friends, fellow beaglers, beloved church members, and mentors. It looks like a pregnant pause, an oratorical tool, but it is the internalization of grief to carry on—blood and saliva mixed. Oh, and I have never done a shoddy funeral, not even for a stranger. I learn a little something, as best as I can. I personalize them all.
Ah, I have written a lot of stories about my mom that show how wonderful she was, and how much I loved her. And How much she loved me. Why did I write this one? Just to show that things in families can be bad at times, but love still reigns. And when it seems like nothing good can ever happen, it does. Like that Easter in Texas. My mom asked me what my Easter sermon would have been. I told her the gist of it, and explained that I would deliver it the next Sunday, when I returned to that little church in Ohio, next to that seminary.
“Where did you get those thoughts?” She asked.
“Running this beagle I have there, and thinking,” I answered.
“Are you mad I had to sell all but the one beagle?” She asked.
“Of course not,” I said, “I love you.”
“Keep listening to those beagles,” she said.
I feel as if I have told so many stories, over the years, about how great my mom was to me, and how supportive she was in everything I did. I suppose I have told the stories about her support of my beagling the most, at least in print. But she was my biggest fan in all things. I thought that this month I would tell about my low points as a son. I guess I will start with applying to college. Back then, Penn State was an affordable college for a working class kid (don’t look at the tuition today). By the time I went to college I knew my life had gone to the dogs. Penn State has a bunch of branch campuses, and the closest one to my hometown was Dubois. The mom grapevine had sufficiently convinced my mother that Penn State Dubois was the party Mecca of the universe, and she decided that I should not go there. Hell, I was willing to go as a commuter, and the money I would have saved in dormitory costs would have more than paid for a junky jalpoy to get me there! Ah, but the stories of the parties in Dubois made mama worry. So she had me apply to main campus, of all places!
One visit had me terrified. Not the parties, the size of the place was intimidating. I think it was 40,000 students then! So, after much begging, I convinced the university to let me go to my second choice, which was the Altoona campus.
“You were accepted at main campus!” The officials wailed, “Why do you not want to come here? Most kids would do anything to start here?”
“I really wanted to go to Dubois,” I said. This really boggled their minds, as Dubois was a very small campus, right next to the high school in town. Altoona was pretty big for a branch campus, and that is where I went, to start. University Park, the main campus, was so big that I felt intimidated by the number of students. The campus was bigger than my town It was a dreadful thought, going to Altoona, being away from home, and not running dogs. Dubois would have suited me fine, I could run dogs, take classes, and get along just fine with the students who also hailed from rural, north central Pennsylvania.
On move in day, I remember being less than happy. Granted, my best friend, Joe, was going to Altoona too, but I was probably one of the few kids that could have been happy commuting and not really having the “college experience” of moving out. All the kids said, “I love you” to mom and dad and parents went home. A few weeks later I was home for Labor Day, and dad said, “All those other kids told their moms that they loved them and you did not.”
I did not grow up in a house where people said “I love you” that much. Sure, we all knew it, and felt it, but it wasn’t vocalized. Not unless it was serious stuff—like surgery or a terrible accident and you were going into the emergency room! I say it to my wife and stepson all the time now, but that was not the way things were in my house. Looking back, I remember all those new college students with tears, saying goodbye with love. What were my thoughts? I was thinking, “Great, I am in Altoona, a city, and my dogs are hours away,”
I got home a few weekends that first semester, and I hunted rabbits hard. Dad was dying from cancer, though we didn’t know it, He had beaten cancer years before, and it had returned, but the doctors were treating him for back problems, unaware that the disease had advanced with a vengeance. Dad kept working, wincing with pain, and even rabbit hunted with me. I kept thinking it would be so much easier if I was in Dubois. Oh, by the way, comparing Dubois to Altoona, in terms of parties, is like comparing traditional brace dogs to SPO dogs. And comparing Altoona to main campus is like comparing UBGF SPO to LPH!
I only went two years to Altoona, and had to transfer to main campus to complete my degree. Dad had died, and mom was working a lot of hours, but would come to get me for a few hunting trips. I was in an apartment with 5 other roommates and it was a college apartment! Kegs. Messes. All that stuff. Not a pleasant thing for moms to see. I would run dogs in the places where dad and I always did, almost hearing his voice. Well, one dog. We had some good hunting dogs, and mom sold all but my old Duke dog. She was making minimum wage at a convenience store after dad died. I understand it now, especially since she got so much money for Princess, dad’s dog. Her pups sold well too. I was out hunting hare over Christmas break, and old Duke was slowing down. I stayed out until almost dark, waiting until I could shoot a hare in our limited Pennsylvania season. I could have gone home sooner, but I was bitter about the young dogs being sold. Hindsight being what it is is, I know it was for the best and those dogs had a much better life running rabbits all year than waiting for me to get home on sporadic weekends.
None of this is to say I was angry, or mean. I was just in flux—a full time student not knowing where I was headed. I graduated college and went straight to seminary, which made everyone in the family….confused. I guess I was always a bit rebellious, at times a hothead, and definitely not always gregarious or good at small talk. But I was thinking about the big questions—life, death, eternity, the meaning of life, and all those things that are part and parcel of life in ministry. What do I remember about graduation? Not wanting to go. It is a pretty impersonal affair at a school that big, and I was happy to let them mail my diplomas. Mom and grandma wanted to attend. I was sullen, and silent. My mind was focused on the fact that I had earned a couple degrees that were not real good for the job market until I went to seminary and finished. I regret not being happy. I had some relatives that had gone to college, but I don’t know that any with the last name of Ford had done it. Shoot, to be honest, a lot of the Fords in my family are smarter than me—mechanics, electricians, carpenters. I was the nerdy kid with a good memory and not much skill.
“Good thing you’re strong,” dad would say, “You got two options—unskilled labor, which is not going to be around much longer—or those book smarts. Skilled craftsmanship is not your thing!” I have relatives that can restore cars, build houses, and build roads. I once replaced a faucet handle without flooding the house, and I thought I was really being a handyman. Mom was happy at graduation, and I should have been too.
I was a student pastor in seminary and had a beagle. The one old beagle I had back home had died, and I got a new one. It stayed at a church member’s farm. Rural place, outside of town. By then, mom got a secretarial job in a construction company. I still remember the last time I saw her. I went to see her in Texas for Easter. The church I was serving told me to go, and gave me the Sunday off! No church does that, but they knew I wanted to see my mom, and I was a student. Mom and I went to the sunrise service, not many there. She died the following August. Her body was shipped back to Pennsylvania. I ran my dog at the farm for three solid days before I went to the funeral.
I wish I would have officiated the funeral. I thought I would get too emotional. The pastor put zero effort into the service. Never learned a thing about my mom. It was nothing but bare bones liturgy. Prayers and scripture. He had to think hard to remember her name for the few times he had to mention her. That night, I went to my childhood home and in the quiet darkness offered the service that I should have done. No one was there, but me, in the stillness of my backyard. I will never be too emotional to officiate a funeral again. I learned a trick that night. When I get too emotional to talk, I bite the inside of my cheek until it bleeds, driving away the tears. I’ve used that same technique at funerals to bury childhood friends, fellow beaglers, beloved church members, and mentors. It looks like a pregnant pause, an oratorical tool, but it is the internalization of grief to carry on—blood and saliva mixed. Oh, and I have never done a shoddy funeral, not even for a stranger. I learn a little something, as best as I can. I personalize them all.
Ah, I have written a lot of stories about my mom that show how wonderful she was, and how much I loved her. And How much she loved me. Why did I write this one? Just to show that things in families can be bad at times, but love still reigns. And when it seems like nothing good can ever happen, it does. Like that Easter in Texas. My mom asked me what my Easter sermon would have been. I told her the gist of it, and explained that I would deliver it the next Sunday, when I returned to that little church in Ohio, next to that seminary.
“Where did you get those thoughts?” She asked.
“Running this beagle I have there, and thinking,” I answered.
“Are you mad I had to sell all but the one beagle?” She asked.
“Of course not,” I said, “I love you.”
“Keep listening to those beagles,” she said.
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