Father’s Day is this Sunday and in honor of the holiday, the Houlton Pioneer Times asked readers to submit stories/memories of their dad. The following is a collection of articles submitted to the newspaper.
Janene Moran — My father was Eugene E. Stewart, born July 1, 1919 and died Dec. 25, 1973. I remember my dad to be a man who loved his mother, who died when he was a young boy. With his first adult paycheck, he bought a headstone for her grave. He was a man who loved his country and served 20 years in the United States Air Force. He was a man who loved his wife and three daughters with his whole heart.
My dad was a man who owned a small country store and would drive 20 miles in a snowstorm to deliver a box of groceries to a family in need. He was a father, who was never forgotten and always missed, but his life lessons to his family continue and his friendly generous traits carried on to his grandchildren whom he never knew.
Jen Lynds — My father, Jerre Lynds, has been a mechanic at the Houlton Municipal Garage since 1974. He’s quite accomplished at what he does, evidenced by the fact that the town has a number of trucks and other pieces of machinery that are more than 30 years old and they still operating, and much of that is due to my father’s skill.
But the day I knew he could fix anything was when I was 7 years old in 1984 and I came to him with an original Cabbage Patch Doll, the first one I ever owned. They had hair made of yarn, and I had taken one side of the doll’s head out of a braid, even though my mother had told me not to. I was all upset and crying, knowing I’d get in trouble if I didn’t fix it. But I couldn’t get the hair to look the same, no matter how hard I tried. Sniffling and sobbing, I brought the doll to my daddy and told him what happened. I don’t know how he did it, but he managed to get “Joleen Eunice” looking pretty again. My mother never noticed a thing. Thanks, “Big D.”
Cathy Davis — My dad, Donald Carvin, will be 88 years old in November and has lived with my husband and me for 18 years, so we have many memories. However, mostly everybody knows that my dad is a hero.
He has done a lot for this community that nobody even knows about. My father built the desks and dispatch center for the Houlton Police Department without being paid; he built the kitchen cupboards, conference table, laundry room and bathroom cupboards for the animal shelter, as his donation to the new building; he has supported me emotionally my entire life, believing that I can do anything I set my mind to do.
He is a kind man who never speaks a harsh word, never talks about people behind their backs and rarely loses his temper. He is a hard-working man, very strong and very stubborn. He trained as a cabinetmaker and has been known all his life for quality work, whether it’s home building or furniture building or finish work. He has a wonderful sense of humor, a twinkle in his eye. He loves his only child fiercely and would take a bullet for me. He loves his grandchildren with a passion and delights in the hugs from his great-grandchildren. My dad is known as “old Gramp” by the little ones.
My fondest memories are as a child, every Christmas, walking through the woods of south Jersey trying to find a Christmas tree. Every year we did the same thing, every year we fell short of that “perfect tree,” so after hours in the woods we would drive to the tree farm, with my mother’s warning in the backs of our heads “don’t get the biggest tree you can find” and home we would come, with at least a 10-foot tree, every year.
Dad would put the lights on, mom and I would decorate, and we did this Christmas Eve. Nobody was allowed to see the finished product until Christmas morning when I would go across the hall with eyes closed, wake dad up, and he would go turn on the tree lights so that my first sight of this 10 foot tree with all blue lights was first thing Christmas morning. It was magic. My father has made my life magic in so many ways and this father’s day I wish there was some way to let him know just how much he is loved.
Mark Putnam — As a child of The Great Depression, my father — Willard “Bill” Putnam (who died in 1999) — taught me the importance of working and saving money to buy the things I “wanted” like a dirt bike and later a car. Although I didn’t necessarily appreciate the lessons at the time, I now try to pass them on to the next generation.
