Tribute by a Mother-in-law to her Son-in-law

            A few months ago, my mother found a time-worn poem entitled “Only a Dad” with her mother’s handwritten words at the top left "Grandma Smith to". Scrawled in Grandma’s bold cursive writing were these words, “Girls Read This.” Below it, in Mother’s perfect script, was the date - June 1978.

            I had just turned 22 years of age and my sister, Angie, was still in her teens, a mere 16 years old. I never remember either of us being disrespectful to Dad. We tried to help whenever he needed us. Only as much older adults, however, did we realize the unfathomable sacrifices Dad made to provide for our family.

            This week as I reread the poem given to us by Grandma Gladys Rainey Smith, I recalled Dad’s work vehicles. They had to always be pickups, always a long wheelbase for all the hauling he did with his carpentry tools and materials. In the 21^st century vernacular, Dad always drove a beater. It never looked like much, but it got him to his worksite and back home. The old model pickup could always carry all his tools needed. He wanted a motor that gave him any power he needed on the farm, too. That meant only one pickup for carpentering and farming. Interestingly, I recall as a young kid hearing discussions about putting into one of his pickup trucks a new engine. He and Mother weighed pros and cons. He proceeded with this major expense but far less than upgrading to a later model pickup.

            Mother remembered how many times when we were quite young Dad came in from “pounding nails” and then doing any farm tasks that need his attention before dark yet expressed no displeasure about rough housing with us. I would have been around 7 years old with Angie being around 2 years old. I think Mother wanted to tell us to leave him alone because she knew how tired he must have been. We never got a hint at that as he laughed and played uproariously with us.

            Grandma so valued the strong work ethic her son-in-law had. Never the gushy grandma, it did not bother her to remind us how hard Dad worked and to let him rest. She knew Dad was working so diligently to be sure to make the yearly land payment on the farm Mother and Dad bought in 1959. Grandma encouraged Dad to pursue the offer of Uncle Herb Gates to work on his construction crew building homes in Ponca City. As so many rural dwellers know, it was and continues to be nearly impossible to be a farming financial success without a salary earned off the farm.

            Most people have heard of horror stories of clashes between mothers-in-law and their sons-in-law. Apart from the fact that each night found all six of us, my parents, my maternal grandparents, my sister, and me, reading the Bible and praying together, this arrangement would have never worked.

            None of the six of us were perfect, but I think Paul’s admonition to the Christians in Rome recorded in Romans 12:16 may give some insight to our family. As Mother has stated frequently, “It was hard to be mad at each other, read the Bible, and pray.” May this passage encourage families of the 21^st century how to live in harmony.

Live in harmony with one another; do not be haughty (snobbish, high-minded, exclusive), but readily adjust yourself to [people, things] and give yourselves to humble tasks. Never overestimate yourself or be wise in your own conceits.

From The Amplified Bible – one of Grandma’s favorite version of the Bible to read

Photo of Angie, Dad, and Me a few years 
after Grandma gave the poem.

One of our last family photos before Dad's Stroke
Seated - Dad and Mother; Standing- Ben, Angie, 
and me.