MEMORIES OF MY FATHER RAPHAEL CLEMENT
Because Dad died when I was only eight years of age, I feel I should preface this by saying that I don't have a lot of direct memories. Those few I do have, I will attempt to write down. Most of my recollections are either remembrances of him interfacing with others, or things which were told me about dad, that became knowledge of him, but not necessarily a true memory.
One of the earliest times I can remember was when I was four. I got a brand new "walking" doll that, at the time, came nearly to my waist. If you held her arm just right, you could make her "walk" along with you. She had beautiful blond curls and cried when she tipped over. Needless to say, as a four year old, I was having trouble getting the hang of the precise rhythm needed to make her walk - and getting more and more frustrated - and no one had time to mess around with my doll - etc., etc. - when Dad came home and quietly suggested my doll and I "take him for a walk" around the block. By the time we got back, I was holding one of the dolls arms and he was holding the other (he must have been bent nearly double!), and the doll was "walking" between us. After that, I was able to do it on my own.
Dad made me a rocking seat with a tray across the front to eat and play on. It was low to the ground like a walker, only with rockers instead of legs. He threaded wood Crokinole game rings on a dowel rod parallel to the tray for playing with, and used one of his old leather belts to buckle between the legs so I wouldn't slip down and fall out. I don't remember when he made it, but I do remember many happy hours of fun in it - mostly in the kitchen while Mother cooked. Sometimes, though, she put it up on the dining room table to pin me down while she cut my hair! I refinished the rocker - still sporting dad's original belt - for my daughter to use as a baby. I still have it, and also, the wood-wheeled frame he made to hold the wicker bassinet basket. It was originally made for my older brother Gary, but, Gary having died at birth, I was the first baby to use the bassinet.
I had a little red-vinyl-on-white metal table and chairs set that I liked to play with under the big tree in the front yard by the driveway. Sometimes my table would find its way into the driveway area, and Dad told me time and time again not to leave it there or it would get run over. So....guess what? I did, and he did, and I learned a valuable lesson - that my dad meant what he said, but he was also fair in warning me so many times. Despite the unhappiness of losing my plaything, I remember not being mad at him, because I knew it was my own fault.
On Saturday's when the car was home, I was allowed to dig between the driver's seat and keep all the loose change I could find. Dad put his change in his pocket, and sometimes it would fall out and roll back while he was driving - at least that's what he told me! And how fun it was in the old rambler, when he would let me lay across the back shelf while traveling. I was the littlest and the only one who could fit, and it gave me an edge up on Charlie!
I remember the date nights when mom and Dad met in downtown Richland and stayed overnight at the Desert Inn. Because Grandpa Clement was always with us, it never bothered me to have them gone. Besides, we knew we could get anything we wanted out of Grandpa! Our favorite suppers consisted solely of french fries. I'm not sure the folks ever found out because they kept him on as the baby-sitter, and Charlie and I sure weren't going to tell them.
Whenever mom got all dressed up, like for a Gold and Green Ball, Dad always whistled when she came downstairs and would give her a whirl across the living room. He adored her and they never lost the magic. I remember when she got the big mirror; and when he gave her the diamond; and I was with him when he got her the black and rhinestone necklace and earrings. I had both that set and the Cowry shell necklace set restored as special mementos.
Somewhere in there, (I must have been about 6)Mother taught me to crochet with those tiny little steel crochet hooks. She told me never to get them out without her, so of course I did. One day while she was out and Dad was in the basement at his workbench, I sat on the floor in front of the upstairs hall closet and proceeded to get the hooks out and practice. Since I was getting pretty good at crocheting, even at that early age, I had no fear of using the hooks myself. I decided to go down and show Dad what I could do, and in the process, tripped. The hook went into my palm and hung there with the thread still on it! Dad couldn't hear me from the basement, so I walked down to show him what had happened.
I don't remember his reaction, but I do remember he tried to pull the hook back out and got it twisted around the stuff inside my hand so it wouldn't budge! Then he picked me up and drove me to Kadlec Hospital emergency with the hook and thread still hanging off me, and me crying all the way. The doctor swabbed it, numbed it, and got it out. They thought they might have to push it all the way through and cut the hook, but luckily, that wasn't necessary. You know, a lesser person might have been put off crocheting after that!
The best part of the whole ordeal was that Dad let me help him "drive" on the way home, and we got an ice cream cone, and I got lots of sympathy from everyone because the iodine stained my hand for days!
Speaking of driving - on the long trips to Utah Dad always sang "peas to the left of us, peas to the right of us, peas, peas, peas" whenever we passed through the Walla Walla produce fields. I was young enough to think it was funny each time, but Mother probably thought differently!
When Shanna and Barbara finally got married and I got their room, Dad made me the best wooden chest for my toys. It was quite large, had a sliding tray in it, and pretty wood trim. He painted the body white, the trim red and yellow, and even put my very own lock and key on it! I felt so very special and still have the chest. I refinished it and my daughter used it for her toys.
After Dad got sick, mom would never let me in the bed with them for fear my wiggling would hurt him. But one night, while Mother was putting the house to bed, Dad let me in and turned sideways, blocking me from mother's view. Then we giggled until we heard her come upstairs. She went into my room to check on me, couldn't find me, and went all over the house calling me. We nearly split! Thank goodness Mother was always a good sport. She still made me go back to my own bed though. After that, sometimes she would make a bed for me on the floor next to dad's side so I could be close to him. Many nights I fell asleep holding his hand.
At some point Dad was a stake missionary and he and Mother spent a good deal of time with the Yakima Indians. Many would come by the house so I was quite comfortable around them. One particular time I remember, (around age 7), they took me with them to Yakima to visit. Someone wanted a picture of me with Chief Job Charlie. He thought that was a great idea and said to just wait a minute. I had no problem until he came out of the tepee in full Chief regalia, complete with tomahawk! There was no way I was going to stand next to him by myself. And that's the real story of how Mom and Dad ended up in the picture!
There were some days toward the end of his illness when Dad couldn't get out of bed and I would go upstairs and visit with him after school. Many times, I knelt by the end of the bed, pulled back the sheet, and rubbed his feet while we talked. I don't know why, but I always thought his feet smelled like honey. Funny, the things that stick in your memory.
I have always had a sense of Dad counseling, guiding, teaching - and at odd times during my growing up years, snatches of things he said would pop into my head. Whenever I said, "I remember Dad saying," Mother would respond, "How could you know that? You were too little." So, I figure, either his spirit was stuffing my brain, or I absorbed more than I realized while playing under the piano when he was counseling someone! Either way, it gave me a feeling of closeness with him.
Aside from being my wonderful dad, I had an overall impression of tremendous spiritual strength. Helping that impression, I'm sure, was that my memory of him at church was of always being seated on the stand, and, at home, the number of people wanting to talk to him or receive a blessing, seemed non-stop. One of those memories that Mother thought I was too young to have, was his love and understanding of the words of Isaiah. Maybe, lost in the worry of his illness, family members forgot that just because I was so little, I was able to spend a great deal of alone time with him. He wasn't much for cuddling or reading bedtime stories - that was mother's job - but he talked to me like a grown-up.
And, interwoven through all of this, were ward and stake leaders, missionaries, friends (especially the Bee Board), youth, married siblings, sibling's boyfriends, extended family, and grandchildren, in a constant parade through our house! Not to mention Grandpa Clement and Aunt Nancy. Annual camping trips when Dad nailed orange crates to the trees so Mother could have a cupboard; special times like rubbing the turkey with butter from the ceramic butter jar; watching the "Cisco Kid" with him after school on our first TV set; having hot cereal with him and gagging when he got out the blue cheese. Him pouring syrup (on just about everything!) from a Log Cabin brand container shaped like a little log cabin. Eventually I found out Mother really made the syrup - he just liked the log cabin container! I still keep a commemorative one in my kitchen to remind me. And, I am still eating my meals at the very same table where I ate with my dad.
I may have been young, but to me, my dad was a superstar and our house was heaven on earth!
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