Building Things of Lasting Value

Published May 19, 1983. Susan has often said that when it comes to doing romantic things, I am long on promise and short on delivery. Like many other husbands, my intentions are good, but I don’t always follow through.

So last week I followed through. I called the bishop, fire department, poison control center, emergency ward at the hospital, and local police and told them my wife and I were going to be away for a day or two. I also asked if they would keep an eye on our children.

Robert Goulet has always been one of our favorite singers, so when I found he was coming to Salt Lake to sing in Symphony Hall, I got tickets and made reservations at the Marriott Hotel across the street from Symphony Hall.

We only had minimal problems in getting away. There were slight innuendos of child abuse from our six kids. Tammy, age 14, agreed to watch the other children. Brian and Jon, 12 and 10 respectively, stated they would protest by riding their bikes up the canyon and spend the day shooting their BB guns. Jason, 6, and Kris, 3, agreed we could go if we would leave an ample supply of peanut butter and honey to assure them they would not starve during our two-day absence.

Our only major concern was our 16-year-old son. Doug, who that very day had received his driver’s license. After a few white-knuckled rides during the two previous weeks, he had proven to me he could, indeed drive. And during our absence he wanted to drive the rest of the children downtown for ice cream cones. Questioning his sudden altruism, we finally agreed, said prayers both vocal and silent, and left.

We arrived at the Marriott in time to change clothes and walk over to the beautiful Symphony Hall. Not only did we like Robert Goulet, but the two numbers performed by the Utah Symphony Orchestra at the beginning were also enjoyable.

Getting away as husband and wife is something we wait too long to do, and then we don’t do it often enough. Perhaps other husbands are like myself—long on promise but short on delivery.

Our room at the Marriott was on the 14^th floor facing north. What a spectacular view that was of downtown Salt Lake late at night. And most impressive to me was the view of the beautiful LDS Temple on Temple Square.

As I looked at the Temple late at night, I wondered why its construction took 40 years to complete. Given the fact that we now have more modern construction techniques, I also realized a few other things.

One was the relative destitute condition of the few thousand Mormon pioneers who started the edifice in 1853. Second was the fact that at least twice, the Mormon pioneers had to start over on the construction project. This occurred once during the Utah War of 1857 when Johnston’s Army threatened to enter the Salt Lake Valley. Brigham Young ordered the workmen to cover the foundation and encouraged the saints in Salt Lake to vacate the valley and move south.

After the Utah War Crisis was over, the soil was removed from the foundation, and construction on the temple was started once again.

Not long afterward, Brigham Young determined the foundation was insufficient and again ordered the workmen to reset the foundation. He announced the Temple must stand for a thousand years, even through the Millennium. So once again, they started over.

Finally, I realized that things of lasting value usually take a long time to build. And the same is as true of marriages as it is of temples. If they are to endure, they must be built on a solid foundation.  The construction of both will take skill, time, effort, knowledge, and patience.

It may be that after a few years of marriage, we may face difficult times and be tempted to give up. But like the Mormon pioneers and the Salt Lake Temple, we may have to start over, working together on the marriage.

Things of lasting value usually take a long time to build.

Don’t Worry About What’s Ahead

Published January 4, 1990. This column is a milestone of sorts for me. Eleven years ago this month, in January 1979, I wrote my first column on marriage for the Desert News. It was titled “Are You an Absentee Father?” More than 500 columns have followed. In that first column, I noted that some husbands are physically absent but psychologically present in the home. These men were those whose jobs or occupations required a great deal of travel away from home. Some husbands and fathers were able to stay away for long periods of time without noticeable disruption in the home.

The column also described many men who were physically present in the home . . . but were psychosocially absent. That is, their bodies were at home, but their minds weren’t. Their attention was devoted to television, work brought home from the office, hobbies, or a myriad of other activities that kept their wives and children at a distance. One wonders if much has changed during the past decade?

I confess—and Susan will agree—I am still an “absentee father” on many occasions. But not as much as I used to be. In retrospect, much has happened to our marriage and family during the 1980s. Perhaps the same is true of yours. Two of our seven children, Kris and Brandon, were born during that time, which necessitated moving to a larger home.

Doug, our eldest, was about to turn 12. Tammy was an active 10-year-old, Brian a curious 8-year-old, and Jon an inquisitive 6-year-old. Jason, it is difficult to believe, was a contented 3-year-old toddler. We had just moved to Orem two years earlier from Wisconsin where I had been teaching before accepting a position at Brigham young university. Susan was busy at home managing a handful of active children and a busy husband.

As I began writing for the Desert News in 1979, we were also on the threshold of a new decade. It’s interesting to look back and review what has happened. Would we want to know in advance what events were about to occur? I think not. That would take much of the adventure out of life. But as I gaze into my crystal ball, I can’t help but wonder where we all will be in the year 2000. What will we be doing? And once again I ask myself the question, “Do I want to know what lies ahead?” The answer is still the same. No, I do not. Much of the intrigue of life would diminish.

Ralph Waldo Emerson once noted something that may be pertinent as we leave the 1980s and head into the ‘90s. He said, “What lies behind us and what lies before us are small matters when compared to what lies within us.”

Perhaps that thought is something we all could take with us into the next decade.

In a Rodney Dangerfield Life, Fathers Need More Respect

Published December 16, 1983. I now know why Rodney Dangerfield is so popular. He keeps reminding us that people need more respect. This is particularly true of fathers in the home.

The other night, for instance, we were expecting company, so I went into the bathroom to shower. From the shower I called out to Susan, “Do I have any clean socks?” “Yes,” she replied, and then paused. “Do they have to match?” I, too, paused and called back, “No, not really. Just get them as close as you can.”

Susan also informed me not to get the clean towels wet since we were expecting company. So there I was trying to dry myself off with a bunch of Kleenex. As I said, men need more respect.

My oldest son, Doug, received his driver’s license last spring, so what happens during this, his first winter of driving? Whenever we go somewhere together, Doug has to drive. He questions my ability to drive the family car on icy roads.

My oldest daughter, Tammy, is in the ninth grade. Need I say more? We are in a car pool where I drive Tammy and some of her friends to school. She recently asked me, in private, not to listen to my radio stations while driving to school. In the words of a ninth grader, “It is soooo embarrassing!” She also suggested that, while we are driving alone in the car, I not honk the horn at my friends. If I must do so, I have to let her know in advance, so she can slide down in the seat where no one could see her.

Not long after my talk with Tammy, my 11-year-old son Jon commented, “Dad, you must have had a dull time when you were a boy.”

I asked why, and he replied, “Because there were no video games to play at a mall.” After thinking over Jon’s observation, I concluded he was right. By the standards of today’s youth, I must have had a dull childhood.

Later Jason, age 7, told me he had learned a few new karate maneuvers and wanted to practice them. I agreed. A little father-and-son scuffle might be kind of cute. But Jason had one request. That request was that I not fight back while he practiced his karate skills.

Kris, our 4-year old, does not say disrespectful things. She just does them. She has recently discovered bubble gum, but she has not yet learned what to do with it when she is finished. We have told her not to swallow it. So the next logical thing for a 4-year old to do with chewed-up bubble gum is to put it somewhere convenient and out of sight, like the inside of Dad’s Sunday shoes.

But the incident that really convinced me that fathers need more respect happened with my son Brian, who is a seventh grader. Recently Brian told me that something was bothering him, and he wanted to talk to me, alone. We agreed to do it that evening, and all during the day I was proud that one of my sons would confide in me during a father-and-son talk.

Later that night, after everyone else had gone to bed, Brian and I met for our talk. “It has been on my mind for some time now, and I wanted to ask you a question.” I leaned back in my chair and tried to look fatherly. “And what is your question, Brian?

“I’ve been wondering,” he began, “if you stood on your head and ate a sandwich, would the food go up or down?” I thanked Brian for confiding in me, and after a few moments of silence I told him I did not know the answer. But true to training in family counseling, I suggested that perhaps we could find the answer together.

Brian asked if one of us could do an experiment, and I said perhaps so. He then said he was tired and wanted to go to bed. If I did decide to stand on my head and eat a sandwich, he said to let him know in the morning.

Parents, like Rodney Dangerfield, do need more respect. I have always maintained that parenthood is forced humility.