Gary Gene Hoffman

With Fathers’ day this weekend I think it’s important to take some time and say thank you to your father. If you don’t chances are he might just forget it is fathers’ day…That’s right how many commercials other then sears and home depot even show commercials around father’s day? Not too many I’m willing to wager. In honor of father’s day I decided to take a little time and tell you about my father. My father grew up on a farm outside of Quincy, IL. In a small little town called Adams, a town with a bar and a ball diamond. Funny how many times people using dangerous farm equipment and liquor come into contact with each other….and then the farm equipment with the person. Might explain the no armed farmer I once met who somehow managed to drive a tractor. My father was the second oldest of four children. Between helping on the farm attending school, and participating in various 4H activities my father developed a work ethic that would stay with him through his whole life. After attending college majoring in Business my dad enlisted in the army, was trained, and found himself in Vietnam. My father served in Echo Company doing the strategic positioning of the mortars that fired taking into consideration charge amount and angle of fire. This was an important job because if the measurements were off even slightly there was a chance of heavy friendly fire. After serving for a considerable time, my father had a short leave back to the states. He was faced with a decision. If he served for another tour he could come home and be honorable discharged. If he opted not to go back he would be positioned in different areas here in the states for several years. For some reason my father decided to go back to the jungles of Vietnam. My uncle told me recently that he remembered my father standing, peering out through the bay window at the farm for a long period of time taking in his home. I think my father knew there was a good chance that he may not return home. Upon his completion in the army he was awarded a bronze star, a combat infantry badge and other miscellaneous medals. After returning home my father began teaching economics at Robert Morris College a small college in an even smaller town, which now is sadly ivy covered run down collection of buildings, standing in the shadows of what it once was. My father never liked teaching. I just wasn’t what he enjoyed. Before long he found his way to Springfield Illinois where he worked as an assistant in the Gifted and Talented Program and the Illinois Board of Education. He worked his way up in the ranks here and soon held a respectable position. It was here where my father me my mother. Before long wedding bells were ringing at The Trinity Evangelical Lutheran Church right next to the Capitol building. Then my father did something that nobody expected. My dad decided he had had enough of the “big” city and wanted to be back in the country. My father left his nice office job and took out a large loan to buy the necessary equipment needed to start a Field Tiling Business. This new thing called Field Tiling came about out of an issue with farmer’s fields. When there was heavy rain water could collect in low lying farm fields…the collected water would not drain properly and led to massive headaches with trying to farm those areas. Field Tile served as a plumbing system of sorts for the field, ensuring proper drainage. My Father took a huge financial risk to play in the dirt all day. But eventually the business was a success. My father usually worked long days and took few days off from his job. Besides this he also helped his father with a bulldozing business. If that weren’t enough he also served as Road Commissioner for our Township. His role as road commissioner didn’t make my sister and I the most popular on icy wintery days where if not for my father pulling gout the school bus from the snow banks, a nice day of sledding and snowball fights would have been had by all. I often accompanied my father on his tiling jobs and I’m sure the “help” of a five year old was something that these my father and his workers could do without. However I did serve a purpose when I accompanied him though. You see many times there would be more vehicles then people to drive them. So I became a pickup driver in the fields. That’s right a five year old and a two tone GMC. Despite not being able to see over the steering wheel and hit the gas at the same time, I did a rather impressive job of driving completely alone in the truck. There was one incident where I found a three-foot ditch…the hard way…but no damage was done to the truck or me. I had so much fun playing catch in evenings with my dad. He was an avid golfer and had his own golf cart which my sister and I practically wore the tires off driving it all around the rural property. Somehow I managed to cripple a swing set and lodge the golf cart on a tree stump…but I had a little help from my sister with the tree stump. We had a lot of fun with my dad there in the country. Unfortunately, things took an unexpected turn that would affect everyone. My father was diagnosed with Colon cancer, which was rapidly spreading. I was probably in first or second grade when he started his decline in health. Despite many trips to the countries leading cancer facilities, the cancer was spreading too fast for the doctors to do much. My father in one long series of operations had the majority of his tailbone removed due to the cancer. For a short time the doctors thought they had it. They did not. My dad faced his battle with cancer with the strongest of fighting and stopped at nothing to play down the toll it was taking on him. He fought the cancer with every fiber of his being. He went through practically every chemo treatment and other treatment that might have helped. He was relentless in his search to beat the cancer. Although he fought harder then any adversity faced in Vietnam, cancer proved to be too powerful of a foe. One cold winter day in fourth grade I was summoned to the principals office where I was informed that a friend of the family would be arriving soon to take my sister and I to the hospital. That would be the last time I would talk to my father. When we arrived it was obvious that he was holding on just to say goodbye to us. We entered the dark room with many machines beeping. He told me how much he loved me and even in the face of all the pain that he was going through at that moment he managed to find humor in the situation. He told me “Son if you ever get your ear pierced, I’m going to have your mom buy you a dress”. Needless to say my ears remain unpierced. Only a small amount of time later my father died. I found out later that he had enough morphine in him to take down an elephant. The next week would prove to be tough on everyone. I remember line of people at the visitation. For several hours the line extended out the doors of the funeral home and around the corner into the parking lot. I’d never seen such a consistent stream of people from all walks of life. It’s amazing how you might never know the effect on other people you’ve made in your life until it’s over. I only hope that when I pass away I have a fraction of the crowd that my father had at his visitation. I was nine when my father was buried on a cold December day only weeks before Christmas. I think I took it pretty well considering everything. There were good days and bad days though, much like when my sister without thinking set four places on the dinner table when now three would suffice. Today I stand grown up and I try everyday to fill the shoes of my father. He is even through death my ultimate role model and my hero. I know part of him will always be with me. There is a peace within me that comes from not letting my father’s biggest fear take place. He was so scared that my being young would somehow make me forget him. It never has and it never will. So please take a moment right now and call your father and tell him thank you for being there and for all that he has done. Much like all the people you love in life, you never know when you might loose them, so do all you can to show them how you feel. Silence is the loudest parting words you can ever say.