When your Dad is a farmer you learn things, helpful things learned from my Dad . . .

Everyone this is my Dad:

Dennis Miner

I got to work this morning and something had spilled, then dried on the wall.  I got the Windex and wiped it off.

The speakers we have are stored behind the TV.  They were returned next to the TV.  I put them back behind the TV.

The wall protector in the bathroom (the thingy that protects the wall from the door knob) it had fallen off.  I put it back on the wall.

My own “to do” list is plenty long, its not like taking care of the small stuff is because I have the time.  I take care of the small stuff because that is just the right thing to do.  I learned that from my Dad.

My Dad was not the play catch in the yard kind of Dad.  My Dad was not the read you a bed time story kind of a Dad.  My Dad was a worker and a provider.  My Dad is a deeply caring individual and I have seen our family life shape him into the beautiful human being he is today.  My Dad has a big heart and he is one of my favorite people in the world.  I love to make him laugh with one liners and jokes about politics and farts.

Today as I was doing the little tasks around the office, I heard echoes of his teachings.  Because my Dad is an old-schooler farmer/rancher I have learned some very important things from him.

If you use it, put it back.

If it’s broke, fix it.

If it needs done, do it.

If you know its not right, don’t do it.

I grew up in the same house my Dad was raised in.  There is comfort in an old farm house.  I felt safe, I liked having the bedroom in the North.  I loved summers.  I would usually be busy with 4-H projects, working with my horse, cattle, crafting or baking.  The security of it all was waking up day after day to the same sounds.  I loved this string of sounds.

The creaky opening of the front door.

The clip-clop of my Dad’s western boots on the cement.

The swing of the yard gate, the click of the latch.

The sound of his walking out into the yard.

I would listen until I heard the well click on, or the barn door open.  My favorite was to listen to him sharpening sickles for the mower.  I would try to imagine what he thought about as he worked.  I could hear the metal grinding and take a pause.  My Dad taught me about hard work.  He taught me by example.  He taught me its in your actions, not your words.  Talk is cheap its what you’ve done by the end of the day that matters.

My Dad really started my learning about Restorative Justice.  He taught me about responsibility to our community (except for the time he let my brother take the blame for some garbage left in a dumpster!).  Restorative Justice is a wholistic approach to people, its based on relationships. 

My Dad taught me that good relationships start with good values.  The best value of all: taking care of the things and people around you.

Thanks Dad! 

Love You!