--- title: Improvement Era description: Monthly periodical of the Mormon church, 1897 onward. This library holds the issues of November 1897 to December 1930. authors: - Stanford, N. Glenn collections: - periodicals tags: - magazine - improvement-era periodical: Improvement Era volume: 30 number: 1 published: 1926-11 publisher: Young Men’s Mutual Improvement Associations publisher_place: Salt Lake City language: en type: magazine reference: "Stanford, N. Glenn, “What a Father Means,” *Improvement Era* 30, no. 1 (November 1926): 51–55." source: url: https://archive.org/details/improvementera3001unse transcription: Transcribed from the Internet Archive scan of each issue (the item for each issue is named in the issue's own source); unnumbered advertising leaves are omitted, printed page numbers are kept as page markers. identifier: improvementera3001unse start_page: 51 end_page: 55 rights: status: public-domain basis: US publication 1930 or earlier (published 1926-11) source: https://archive.org/details/improvementera3001unse publication_year: 1926 note: The Internet Archive item metadata carries a blanket "© Copyright by Intellectual Reserve, Inc." notice. The library owner judged it inapplicable because this issue was published in 1926, before 1931; a scan-level notice does not restore copyright. --- # What a Father Means WHAT A FATHER MEANS By N. Glenn Stanford Andy's freckled face flushed crimson under the scoffing of his friends and his red hair almost bristled with sudden anger. What had he done to deserve such treatment? Why should his old friends treat him thus just because he could not sink low enough in crime to steal a poor old widow's watermelons? "I tell you," he faltered; "I — I never did 'fall down' on you before, — I've always stuck by the gang, — but I just couldn't bear to see poor old widow Brown sitting there, so saint-like, on her porch and us all gorged from eating her melons. Why, boys! I would feel like the dirtiest sneak that ever lived, and so would you fellows — and you know it." "Aw g'wan!" bawled a roguish looking lad of fourteen. "She's got lots of them and besides she's z> cranky old hen, any way; what's a few watermelons in a life time, huh? You've just lost yer nerve, Andy Green, tha's all." Andy sobbed. How could he stand this insult, he, who had al- ways been the leader of the gang. He, who had been their hero ever since the old days when they had hunted for toads by Caron's dam, and had feasts of green apples from old man Mcguire's orchard. He, — it was almost more than he could bear; hot tears welled up in his eyes and he turned and started for home amid the jeers of his former com- panions. As he neared his home, he could make out the outline of his father as he sat in the gathering gloom on the vine-clad porch» His father always sat that way, quiet and morose. Andy couldn't remember his mother; all he knew of her was what Mrs. O'Mally had told him — that she was a really good woman and had died when he was born. He wondered if his father would tell him about her tonight; he would ask him. He approached his father silently and touched him on the shoulder. "Daddy," he said; "tell me about my mother tonight." His father looked up, and a close observer would have seen just the least little shadow of paternal love flicker in his brooding eyes. But the boy didn't see it, and as he stood by the big chair he trembled slightly. Why did his father always treat him like this, he wondered, why didn't he take him on his knee, as other boy's fathers did, and talk to him and ask him questions? "You run on in the house and eat your supper, Son, and then crawl in bed ^for we have not to get going early in the morning, and sometime I'll tell you about your mama." Andy turned and entered the house but he couldn't eat. The supper was cold and unpalatable, and a dull pain throbbed in his chest. 52 {IMPROVEMENT ERA He sought a secluded spot back of the cow shed and cried as if his heart would break. All his life he had been starving for some understanding; his heart ached for a little kindly interest from his father. He won- dered what it would seem like to go fishing with him, or attend Sun- day School together. It fairly thrilled him to think of it, and in his ecstacy he hugged the old post which he was leaning against. Oh, if his mother was just alive, and he gave the post an extra strong hug as he thought of it, how happy he would be. What a consolation it would be to curl up in her lap and confide to her all the achings of his little unsophisticated heart. In spite of the fact that he had never known her, he felt that she was near, somewhere she was shaping his destiny; slowly it forced itself upon him that it was she who had made him with- draw from the old gang; it was she who made him love his father, and there, in the shadow of the cowshed the soul of a boy cried out to the mother it had never known. He suddenly felt calm and composed and as he searched his way through the darkness to the house his spirit almost sang aloud with joy, a joy which he could in no wise understand. That night, for the first time in his life, he offered up a short prayer. "Bless and protect my darling mother," he prayed; "and — and, please God — bless daddy." In his bed, alone, Axel Green thought of his lad, and wondered if he was spending enough time with him. "Oh, he has enough friends to keep him company, and I would just be in his way," he thought. Little did he think that his boy "was starving for just a little show of interest, even if it was clumsily given, or did he realize, strong man that he was, that a few words of love could mean more to a boy than a pile of gold. Andy awoke with a jerk the following morning, vaguely sensing that his father was up and that it was, therefore, time for him to rise also. Pulling on his overalls, he slid through his bed room window and, untying old jerry from the stall, drove in his father's work horses. Axel Green stood in the barn door as Andy came up the lane enveloped in a cloud of dust and slid off Jerry at the Watering trough. "Hurry up with breakfast," was his only greeting. "And don't burn the bacon." As Andy busied himself with dishes and broke the eggs in the sizzling pan, an idea occurred to him. The Mutual was having a fath- ers and sons' outing and he would ask his father if he would go with him. He knew his father became lonesome at times, and that it would do him the world of good, still — his heart almost failed him as he heard his father's footsteps on the gravel path. "Daddy, I — we," he faltered. "They are having a fathers and sons' outing and" he thrilled at his own words, "they want us to go," he said, thinking that some one's else invitation would prove more effective than his own; "and I'd like 'awfully' well to go." "You know I haven't any time for such nonsense." His father replied. "The weeds are growing fast and the Summer-fallow needs WHAT A FATHER MEANS 53 cultivating again — but," and his voice softened, "you go with them; you can take Jerry, and the boys will be company enough — I've got to work to keep the farm going," he excused himself. "But Daddy, it's a father and sons' outing and all the other boys will have their dads with them and I'll be all alone," he pleaded. "Well, you can adopt Bishop Smith as your father for the outing, you know you like him, but I'll have to stay home and work so that I can keep you in clothes." The boy washed the dishes, with eyes that were blurred with tears. "I know he doesn't love me," he sobbed to himself. "The boys will all make fun of me because I wouldn't help them steal the melons. Oh, I can't go without daddy! I don't see why I try to be good," he cried broken-heartedly. "I might just as well steal the water- melons. Father won't care if I go to jail; there is no use in trying to be good, if no one loves me; so, I'll go with the boys tonight and show them that my nerve isn't gone." He spent the day in a sullen mood. After supper he milked the cows and washed the dishes, then, slipping quietly through the back door, he sped swiftly through the dark to where the gang was to meet. He knew the boys would be glad to see him, and his heart sang with a reckless joy as he reiterated in his mind the many years he had led the gang and how they depended on him. He thought of the widow but it was only with a reckless bravado. He had forgotten his good resolutions as he sped quickly along the tree-bordered roadway to their meeting place. As he passed the widow's house, something almost stopped him. It seemed as if he could feel, as he had never felt before, the spirit of his dead mother drawing him back, — clinging to him — pleading with him. Suddenly, while his mind was debating as to what he should do, he heard the rustle of footsteps in the garden and the sound of hushed voices, and he knew that the boys had already started on their raid. He was undecided as to what he should do. He longed to join the boys and the excitement of the occasion surged in his blood. He started for the fence, but again he thought of the widow. "What if she was your mother?" A voice seemed to ask him, and he turned back. "Tell the widow," the voice said, and he fairly ran towards her house. He pounded on the door and, when no answer came from within, he be- came frantic and kicked and pounded as hard as he could. He heard a window open and then a frightened voice asking: "What's the matter?" "They are stealing your melons," the boy whispered back to her. "Quick, they are in the south patch." The window fell down and in an incredulously short time the door opened and the widow stood before him with a light wrap about her and a lantern in her hand. "Quick," she said. "Please frighten them away, I feel afraid." 54 IMPROVEMENT ERA Andy grabbed the lantern and, with his heart beating with excite- ment, he ran towards the field swinging the lantern in circles around his head. As he ran into the patch he heard the starts of surprise, and then fleeting footsteps while dark shadows flitted all around him in the dark- ness. Thrills ran up and down his spine. For the first time in his life he drank of the wild, exultant spirit of the hunter. In the past he had enjoyed the excitement of being hunted but it was nothing when com- pared with the thrilling, intoxicating and triumphant feeling which came when fighting for the right. When the last of the shadows had flitted over the fence and the running footsteps died away in the distance, he carefully picked his way back to the house. The widow was standing by the gate. She impulsively gripped his arms, and then, much to Andy's embarrassment, she gave him a big hug. "You are a very brave boy, and I am sure your mother must be proud of you," she said. "I haven't any mother," he answered simply. "I've only got a daddy and he don't care what happens to me." "You poor boy," the widow cried, "come in, and I will make some lemonade and you can tell me all about yourself," and taking him by the hand she led him into her little front room. The boy tearfully told her all the longings of his heart, and long before he was through, the widow had put her arm around him and was quietly sobbing with him. Perhaps she had once fondled a boy for she seemed to understand him, and for the first time in his life the boy had found someone in whom he could confide . Andy did not know that the widow visited his father next day, that she had told him the same story she had heard, and had finally left him in tears and slipped quickly home. He was, therefore, very much surprised when he returned and found his father packing up a supply of food and filling some sacks with grain. "I am going on the trip with you," he said, in a voice which vibrated with emotion, and then, ashamed of his weakness, he added huskily: "I don't suppose it will hurt the horses to rest for a week." "And so it happened that when the company of happy holiday- makers jostled their way up the rugged canyon on the following morn- ing, there was among them a boy and his father who both felt strange in each other's company but in whose hearts a new-born joy was grow- ing and that love which can only come from companionship was slowly entering the heart of each. The week was coming to an end. The boy had spent a glorious week and the father, although he never mentioned it, had never been so happy before. As they lay in bed at night with the stars dancing over head, while in the distance a lone coyote was yapping spasmodic- ally, the boy pillowed his head on his father's arm and wondered why he had not always slept with his father. WHAT A FATHER MEANS 55 The final day had come and a big fete had been arranged. They had foot races for old and young, horse races and many other athletic events. In the shade of a big covered wagon, a bunch of happy, expect- ant, young boys watched some of the older ones turn the ice cream freezer; they had spent a happy week and now they wanted to see their mothers but, still, they would not let homesickness interfere with their appetite for a dish of the luscious cream. Axel Green watched his lad compete in the contests, and his heart beat with pride as he saw him win prize after prize. While Andy, con- scious of his father's1 admiring glances, put his whole heart into the task before him and, with the dexterity which had made him leader of the gang at home, proved himself hero of the day. That night, as they all stood in the shadow of the spruce grove and watched the silvery moon rise molten above the ragged mountain peaks in the distance, Axel Green put his arm clumsily about his boy and wondered why he had ever been lonesome at home, and Andy, re- sponding instantly to this little show of affection, put his arm around the huge waist of his father and, raising his eyes shamelessly to the luminous heavens, thanked God in his heart for the father he had found. Manchester, England. Thoughts and Maxims There should be no such word in the language as "pastime." Life is so short that every minute of our time should be used. Never joke at the expense of another, unless you are reasonably certain that he or she will enjoy it almost, if not quite, as much as yourself and the third party or third parties present. You have no right to humiliate or injure the feelings of others for the amusement of yourself and friends. Shun the person who always smiles cynically when the honor of statesmen and other highly placed persons is mentioned. It is ten-to-one he would do, if opportunity arose, what he suspects of them. One of the strangest, and often saddest, things is that millions do not profit from history, not even when it is made in their own day. Be slow to criticise another for what you regard as a shortcoming. It may be that he has seen something just as bad and perhaps worse in you, but was too considerate, or too refined, to mention it. Some people carry the principle of minding their own business so far that th'ey never think of raising hand or voice when tyranny or vice is stalking abroad. "Business is business," as a justification of some act that would seem to conflict with the life and duties of a Christian, is often quoted. Has anyone ever heard this worn-out phrase used the other way about, "Religion is Religion?" If socialism had been founded on love instead of hate, it would have succeeded long ago. There are people who, once deceived, would rather be kept deceived than -uffer the shock of disillusionment. ^hat some people boast of as their broadmindedness may be nothing but an inability to think for themselves. — Fred L. W. Bennett.