Whose shoes do you need to shine?   
                                                  by Wanda Townsend

I remember as a small child anxiously awaiting the arrival of my dad from work. My siblings and I always knew when he was home. Not because of the sound of his car, but rather, because of the sound of his voice broadcasting over the television: interrupting our favorite after school program.

In a low but strong voice, the transmission would utter, "164 Norfolk." "Go ahead 164," replied the dispatcher. "10-7," he answered.

You see, my father was a Nebraska State Trooper. Each evening he would radio to let the communications center know he had safely arrived home and was officiallly out of service. I would run as quickly as I could upstairs to greet him at the door; many times missing a step or two in my hurry.

He was a tall, slender man with an incredibly gentle soul. A man made of integrity and honer: a public servant who took his duty to "protect and serve" seriously. Together we woulld walk to the bedroom. I watched as he removed his gun belt and placed it on the floor to be polished. I became entranced as he carefully hung his uniform on the hanger and placed it in the closet; noticing that the uniform was still neatly pressed appearing as if it had just come from the cleaners. I was mesmerized as he shined his badge and collar insignia. And then..my favorite part of our ritual..the polishing of his black leather shoes. Out came the wooden shoe shine kit made of cedar.

As we sat together over the wooden box he asked about my day. He listened intently and many times with great empathy. He shared stories of his day describing every detail of what he had encountered during his shift. Silence would eventually come over us as we reflected on each other's words. Eventually the silence was broken by the cheerful sound of Dad's whistling as he continued to shine away like a skillful pro at a barbershop. When he was done, I was enthralled at how shiny his shoes appeared, revealing the reflection of my curly hair and the joy on my face.

Little does my father know of the gift he gave me over that wooden box. Every evening I walked away with a better understanding of what it means to be humble, empathetic, optimistic, and most importantly, grateful.

Whose shoes do you need to shine today?

1/2014

                                                Me and my wife and brother Joe....
                                                       by Rhonda Tyler

The idea was tossed around for each of the siblings to come up with a special memory board about our Dad as we grew up through the years. Each of us have so many memories we wouldn't have enough space for all of the boards, instead we decided to write a special story about our Dad. I'm writing my story to thank my Dad for everything he has done for me as a child and now as an adult.

Growing up in the small town of Oakland, NE, I have a special childhood memory of Dad playing with us kids on the living room floor. He would have us so wound up, Mom would say "Raymond knock it off!" but it wasn't enough to deter him from enjoying the moment. We would be squealing with laughter, he would lay on the floor and have us stand on his hands, he would raise us above his head, up into the air.  We would pretend to fly as it seemed we were up so high even though in reality it was only a few feet above the floor.

Dad often helped us with our homework, sometimes to lighten the moment we would draw pictures, none of us were true artists but oh you should see the picture Dad drew of the "man with the cigar"! To this day it's still the best piece of art I have ever seen. Then came the pirate hats made out of newspapers, I would play with mine for days. I have not been able to make a pirate hat as neat as the ones he made.

Sure we were disciplined as children, all Mom had to say was "Wait until your Dad gets home!", that's all the threat we needed but I don't remember too many times when that threat was followed up unless it was absolutely necessary. (Remember his hand was bigger than my butt!)

After moving to Norfolk, Dad worked nights every other week, we didn't see too much of him, he would leave for work about the time we got home from school. We looked forwrard to seeing him on his days off. We would go to church and he would look at us with so much pride even as we pinched and shoved each other quietly as we sat in the pew with Mom glaring straight ahead. Oh the sweet memories!

There's a saying about police officers kids getting into more trouble than kids whose parents had other jobs, this is due to the officers dedicating so much time and energy into their work. Dad used his work to teach us, he showed us pictures, some of them graphic of traffic accidents and pictures of the bad effects of drugs and alcohol abuse. It didn't traumatize me as Mom feared but it's a memory that stayed with me and influenced some of the choices in my life.

For being the child of a State Patrolman I don't think any of us turned out too bad. What he taught us as children was to respect each other as friends and family, to accept challenges with calm and dignity, to be the best you can be and always have a sense of humor and a hug for those near and dear to us.

As an adult Dad has always been here for me though thick and thin, he has supported me with love and understanding. About now I can hear him say "Whooop!, this is the word he used when he didn't know if to believe us. : )

Thank you Dad for being you and making me me. I'd like to end this with the words from Dads favorite song he like to sing, it has a special place in all of our hearts. "Me and my wife and my brother Joe took off in my Ford from San Pedro..."




1/2014

                                     Memories Of My Dad
                                                                by Randy Brown


One of my fondest memories of my Dad is when he was a State Patrolman and I would ride along. There was always lots of excitement. Sometimes when working the Indian Reservation Dad would get a call that he felt was unsafe for me to go on. He would lock me up in the jail with some of the regular inmates. Safest place I could be, Right?!! It was great they had pop and candy. ( I don't think Mom knew that this happened.)

When I was 16 my car wouldn't start. Dad told me it was probaly the starter, I asked him to fix it, he told me to take it out myself. I had no idea what I was doing but I went to work. A little while later with grease covering me head to toe I brought the starter into the house, I laid it on the table in front of my Dad and told him to fix it. The only response I got was Dad laughing.

Halloween was aways a fun time with my folks! Dad, Mom and us would get dressed up and go to the bars, go to parties where we were not invited and enter neighbor's houses uninvited. One time we were in the back of a pickup driving on main street scaring people and we were nailed with eggs!

Another funny memory of Dad was when we moved back from San Antonio, TX we were helping Mike at his house in Kansas. Dad was making fun of Wade (who was only like 4 yrs. old), calling him a "Long Tall Texan riding his big white horse", which infuriated Wade, he finally turned around to Grandpa Brown and said,  "Grandpa, I'm going to kick your ass!" We were all in tears laughing.

Dad always helped whenever a big project was going on, especially when we built our house at 1901 N. 19th Street in Norfolk and then a new addition to our house out in the country where we now live. Remember when the 16' tall south wall slid off the foundation? Dad, Mike & I all went into the dirt! (Dad cut his hand, but luckily it wasn't worse.) After all the projects we still have all of our fingers.

Dad & Mom have always been there for us kids and we couldn't be more proud of the outstanding State Patrol career our Dad had and what a great man he is.

"Happy 80th Birthday, Dad!!!"

Love you always,

Randy, Bernice & Jenna
Ryan, Jamie & Owen
Wade, Becky, Rachel & Caleb

1/2014