For Dad on Fathers' Day 2026

The Family Dog

Laddie was a rebel. My father always used to say that he’d spent more time and money bailing the family dog out of trouble than he had any of us kids. While I gave my dad more than his share of sleepless nights, Laddie was the cause of most midnight phone calls. Our wild longhaired collie who defied all of Dad’s attempts to restrict his freedom would often disappear after supper to wreak havoc upon the neighborhood. Then in the middle of the night, Dad would receive a phone call from an irate neighbor whose well manicured lawn was being somehow violated by our Laddie. Dad would shrug on his bathrobe, hop in our car and scour the neighborhood for the miscreant. Once or twice, Dad had to go down to the dog pound early the next morning to spring the mangy beast when some unsympathetic neighbor called the police instead of him.

Laddie’s exploits were not confined to these attack and destroy missions around the neighborhood. Just as children tend to do, Laddie found just as much trouble to get into when he was grounded at home. If he were confined to the house, he would leave a large surprise for Dad on the white carpet of my parents’ bedroom. If he was left outside, restricted to the fenced in backyard, well, there were holes to be dug, usually in a spot where Dad had just spent hours planting and cultivating an expensive rose bush or bed of flowers.

One afternoon Dad arrived home to discover the front door standing wide open. Assuming that we had been burglarized, Dad cautiously entered and began exploring the house. Imagine his surprise when he discovered Laddie and several of the local dogs stretched out on the good living room furniture, muddy paws and all. Talk about wild parties! I wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d have found a few beer cans hidden under the sofa when, after Laddie’s friends had been chased out and Laddie properly chastised, Dad attempted to clean up the mess.

Poor Laddie. I couldn’t help but sympathies with him. As a teenager, I too was often the cause of my Dad’s anger. Neither of us set out to create trouble. If anything, we both preferred Dad's approval over his disapproval. I’ll never forget the way Laddie’s eyes would shine and his bushy tale would swoosh back and forward when Dad gave him any positive attention. I suppose if I had a tale mine would have wagged as well when Dad directed his praise my way. Unfortunately at that time in my life I was dealing with the same wild cravings as Laddie was. This resulted in my receiving more criticism than praise from Dad.

Time passed and Laddie and I grew older, if not wiser. Laddie was beginning to feel his age. Consequently while the midnight forays did not entirely cease, they were becoming less frequent. I on the other hand was stepping up my own late night escapades. Now twenty-one, I had discovered the bar scene and found it increasingly difficult to make it home much earlier than 3 am. I would turn off my car’s headlights and slip stealthily up the driveway trying to avoid detection. After gently opening and shutting the front door, I’d tiptoe down the hall to my room, praying that no one heard me. Still Dad always knew exactly what time I got home and even when he didn’t reveal that knowledge to me deep down inside I knew that he knew.

Every so often he’d be sitting in his favorite chair smoking a cigarette in the moon light as I came creeping in. He was always ready with a lecture on why nice girls don’t stay out until 3 am. Of course, I resented his lectures almost as much as I was crushed by his obvious disapproval. Part of me wanted to rush over and hug him and tell him I was sorry (for I truly was) and that it would never happen again. The other part though, the confused, restless wild part, wouldn’t allow me to do this. Instead, I would return his concern with cold sullen silence while I dreamt of the day I could afford to move out on my own.

It was not long after one of these nights that Laddie disappeared. Initially we weren’t too concerned. We figured he'd either come limping back in a day or two or someone would call to let Dad know that Laddie needed bailing out again. Only this time the phone didn’t ring. Nor did Laddie return home. By the third day we were all getting pretty worried, all of us that is except for Dad. His attitude was, that dog has caused me nothing but trouble since the day YOU brought him home – good riddance!

Finally on the fourth day the phone rang. It was a young woman calling to let us know that she had found Laddie, weak but still alive, floating near the edge of the lake upon which we lived. Apparently, he had fallen off a cliff into the lake, and the bank was too steep for him to be able to climb back out. While this part of the lake wasn’t quite deep enough for him to drown in, he’d been forced to remain semi submerged in the water, waiting for someone (perhaps Dad) to come rescue him. Laddie had always had a great fear of water, ever since he had fallen into the lake as a puppy and Dad had fished him out, half drowned and trembling with fear. It must have been a nightmare for him, trapped in the water for days, struggling to free himself. Thankfully the woman and her boyfriend had spotted Laddie while boating. They were able to pull him out and take him to the town vet.

Dad immediately hopped into his car and took off to the vet’s. He returned several hours later with the half unconscious dog. He gently carried him into the garage and laid him carefully on a pallet of soft blankets. This time he had no lecture for Laddie, no cursing or complaints about how much THIS little escapade was going to cost him. I understood the moment I saw them. Laddie was dying.

The Vet had shaved off most of Laddie's long brown fur leaving only his thick white mane. Most of his tail had been shaved as well, except for the tip. All this left him looking like a greying decrepit old lion. He was bandaged here and there and painted with a yellowish foul-smelling disinfectant. What little strength he had was depleted further by a bad case of pneumonia. All he could do was lie there. He didn’t even have the strength to eat. The worst part, the part that confirmed my fear that he was dying, were the maggots. They came from many small wounds on Laddie and seemed to be everywhere. They hadn’t even waited until he was dead to begin their feast. I felt helpless to stop them. In truth, I didn’t even have the courage to try.

Dad had always had a weak stomach, leaving mom to take care of the messier side of our childhoods, so when I looked into the garage later that evening and found my father kneeling next to Laddie, patiently picking the maggots off him one at a time, it came as quite a shock. Watching them, I thought of something my father had said during his most recent lecture to me. Rather than maintaining my usual icy demeanor that night, I had given into tears. Dad, always at loss with a weeping woman, softened enough to say, “the only reason I get on you about these things is because I love you and I want to keep you from making mistakes that will make you unhappy.”

I suppose that I had always known that my father loved me and that, like most parents, his lectures were intended to spare me pain, not cause it. Now as I watched him working away on Laddie, I gained a deeper appreciation of that love and what it must have cost my father. I realized those times when he seemed to be constantly picking on me had been as miserable for him as they were for me. He had only done what he felt he had to do to keep me safe. As I watched the two of them, I knew that long after Dad was gone from this world his love and wisdom would remain with me, just as he remained with Laddie that night, patiently picking away at the maggots.

Epilogue: Although Dad did his best to save Laddie, he eventually accepted that Laddie was suffering and it was time to let him go. He took Laddie back to the vet and had him euthanized. Even though Laddie was the “family dog”, Dad shouldered that responsibility to spare the rest of us. I moved out on my own shortly after this so Dad no longer had to worry about me when I stayed out late. I’d like to think he was finally able to get a good night’s sleep but now that I’m a parent, I doubt he ever really did. He died young - at age 60 - and I find some solace in picturing him and Laddie exploring the afterlife together.

Memories of Steve

Hello again laughter

(November 9. 1980)

Sometimes

We spend so much time crying

We don’t recognize laughter.

You made me laugh

Long before I would admit.

I was so busy being miserable

I almost missed your smile.

Thank god I looked

In time to see

Our laughter.

Gently

(March 27, 1980)

With hands so gentle

He caresses me,

His touch is like the softness

Of early morning dew

On my parched and weary body.

It’s hard to believe

A man could possess such gentleness.

I have been loved before 

But never gently.

Old Grey Ghost

Driving through town

I saw an old grey van

Parked by the corner bar.

Circled ‘round the block

To get another look

But this one wasn’t missing

The grillwork on the front

So I drove on home.

Lying in bed 

Late at night

I heard an engine roar

Was it an old grey van

Outside my house?

As the door slammed

I listened for the metallic clank

Of a doorknob falling off

But it never came

SoI turned the radio up

To drive away 

That noisy old grey ghost

Always roaring though my mind 

Reminding me of when

It was parked next to me.

That space stays empty

While the old grey van roars past.

Goodbye

(December 1984)

We’ve said goodbye before

But you never really leave

For you’ve become a part of me

A part of what I am

And all that I might be

A part created

From the best of love

And friendship

Strengthened

Not only by joy

But sorrow

And held close 

With a thousand memories

A part

Never to be forfeited

To a mere word

Goodbye.

Mother's Day (for Joann)

Sunday is Mother's Day.

I thought I was ready

to face it without you.

I was wrong.

 

You were always there

When I needed to talk.

Did you ever wish

I'd just shut up and listen?

 

I'd love to listen now

To the details of your life

But we ran out of time

Before I asked all my questions.

 

Why did your mother work?

Couldn’t be a "housewife"?

What did she do to you

For you erased her forever?

 

Did you resent the times

she left alone you all alone

to make mustard sandwiches

for your little brother?

 

Did you have your own goals?

Did you really want to be

a wife, mother and teacher

Or was that just the easy path?

 

Life was all mapped out,

You just followed the plan,

but I remember the time

when you cried in the kitchen.

 

You asked my brother and I

how we would feel

if we didn't live with Daddy,

But that wasn't the plan.

 

Did Dad make you happy

or were you just a bit relieved,

After years of deferring to him,

when he passed away at sixty. 

 

I bet it was freeing,

if a bit lonely,

to finally live your life

exactly like you wanted.

 

Did you like being my mom?

I know I caused you heartache

with my constant drama

and poor choices.

 

How many times

did you have to bail me out

financially and emotionally?

How many tears 

did my selfishness cost you?

 

Did you ever wish I'd just go away

and leave you in peace

like your mother did?

Like my father did?

 

I appreciated all you did for me,

I wanted to pay you back,

but I just got too busy

living my life.

 

If I'd only known

what I know now

I would have spent more time

Listening and doing

exactly what you wanted.

Jane Wayne

 

Jane Wayne

Growing up I had a favorite spinster aunt who we jokingly called Jane Wayne. I always felt Jane and I were kindred spirits because we both seemed to be rather shy and awkward around other people, including each other. Because of this I always felt rather sorry for Jane and what I perceived as her solitary, lonely life. It’s only been recently, as I dug into old pictures and writings Jane kept, that I began to see another side to Jane.

Jane was my father’s much older sister. She was born on Sunday, November 30, 1912 on a farm a few miles north of a small town called Medcalf, Illinois. For seventeen years, Jane and her two sisters, Francis (1911) and Charity (1914), had their parents, Edith and Orval Henry, all to themselves. Then along came my dad, Orval Martin (aka Sonny) in 1929 followed quickly by his brother, Bruce (aka Buddy) in 1930.

Reread that first paragraph and think about those dates. Three girls born in a span of four years and then a seventeen years break followed by two boys in two years. What was going on in my grandparents’ marriage? Keep in mind that back then abstinence was the best form of birth control. I can’t help but wonder what Orval did to piss Edith off so much that they didn’t have sex for seventeen years.

But let’s get back to Jane. Based upon her written recollections, she had to overcome many health issues growing up. At just a few months old she contracted polio. Her mother and grandmother used heat and massage on her legs which prevented permanent damage but this initially impacted her walking. Later she had to have her tonsils and adenoids removed. The doctor came to the family’s farmhouse and did the surgery on the kitchen table. When Jane was around ten she had German measles and the mumps at the same time. She also told us that she was a chubby child until she got some strange stomach flu, after which she remained skinny the rest of her life.

With all these illnesses I would have guessed Jane had a solitary, sad childhood but the way she told it her childhood was packed with people and adventures. Most of the people she interacted with were related in some way.  They lived on a farm that was adjacent to her Grandpa Gaines’ farm and her other grandfather, Henry Kendall, was the mayor of her hometown of Metcalf.  The country school she attended was called the Kendall and Gaines School and Jane's Aunt Inez was one of her teachers. Jane recounts a childhood spent visiting family and wandering the countryside with her sisters and cousins. Think “Little House on the Prairie." 

About the time my father was born the depression was hitting hard and the family had lost the farm. A relative found Jane’s father a factory job in Indianapolis. I don't think Jane’s mother worked outside the home but still my father always said that it was his sisters who raised Bruce and him. This makes sense since the girls would have been in their late teens while his mother would have been pushing forty by this time. I imagine Jane was the main babysitter though. She always had a caregiver personality. Plus Francis and Charity both married and left home when the boys were still young. Jane remained single.

My dad always said that Jane never married because she was too picky. I’m not sure about that. She had at least one serious boyfriend that I know of. After she died I inherited her old photos and there were several of an unnamed handsome WWII soldier. My cousin Diana (Bruce’s daughter) and I used to speculate that Jane’s beau died in the war. We even used that as fodder for a story Diana had to write for English class in high school. I wish we’d saved our story because I’m sure the imagination of two teenage girls was more interesting than Jane’s real life reasons for not marrying her soldier boy.

I do know that Jane stayed home while all the other children left. She got a job and helped pay the bills while her parents grew old and eventually died of cancer.  After they were gone, she moved into her own apartment and supported herself with a secretarial job at P.R Mallory and Company, a major producer of batteries and electrical components in Indianapolis. As far as I know she worked for them her entire life. 

Jane in her party dress

By the time I was born, Jane was in her mid-forties. As a child she always seemed pretty old to me, but she was actually only middle aged. Her calm, good natured personality made Jane all the children’s favorite aunt. My cousin Diana and I loved to go spend the night with her on the weekends. I never wondered if we were cramping her social life. As far as I knew the only social life Jane had was her bowling league and the occasional Mallory party. Jane did love to dress up for these work parties. I inherited several of her party dresses which came in handy later when my daughter and her friends wanted to play dress up.

Me and Diana all dressed up

Speaking of playing dress up, Diana and I loved to dress up when we stayed with Jane. We would wrap ourselves in her silk scarves and adorn ourselves in her costume jewelry and have parties with Jane. She was so patient with us and allowed us to get creative with her things and boss her around to our hearts content. We’d tease her about the way she talked which we perceived as being too “country”. A couple favorite expressions were how she pronounced “toilet" as “terlet" and how she started some sentences with “wail” instead of “well”. To us, she seemed hopelessly old fashioned, and we couldn’t help but make fun of her nativity. Still, she always had a hint of a smile as she watched our shenanigans and looking back, I suspect that she wasn’t as clueless as we thought.

Party time

Jane was a career girl at a time when most women dreamed of being a housewife. It was a bold choice for a young woman to remain single and childless at that time. World War II had ended and the men had returned to take back their jobs and resume being the breadwinners. Jane may not have been a great beauty, but surely she had her pick of decent men? Instead she chose to be her own breadwinner. When we later teased her about never marrying, Jane would just smile slyly and stay mum. I wish I’d really asked her about it when I grew up. I’m sure she had some interesting reasons for remaining single.

Jane was always very independent. She took the bus to work every day and walked to nearby shops for whatever she needed.  She made all of life’s decisions by herself - what foods to eat, what clothes to buy, where to live. She took many trips to visit her sisters over the years, flying by herself to Chicago, Maryland, and Miami. After she retired, Jane took herself on a European tour and would proudly show off her picture album whenever she could.  

Jane at the National Airport in Washington D.C. 

Jane and friend in downtown Indianapolis

   

I don’t think retirement was kind to Jane. I think she needed a reason to go out in the world every day. Once she settled into retirement she spent too much time alone. My cousin and I were grown up and no longer came over to party with Jane. Her brothers stopped by when they could but everyone was very busy, too busy to spend much time with the family caregiver. Jane started to exhibit signs of dementia. Sometimes my father would get calls saying that Jane had been found walking along a busy road in the middle of the night looking for the bus to take her to work. She needed work.

Eventually it was decided that, for her own safety, it was time to put Jane in a senior living facility. For such an independent woman this must have been terrifying. She had lived her entire life on her own, doing things her way. Now she would have to live with strangers and follow other people's rules. I admit that after Jane went to the “home” I saw her less and less. She seemed even more timid and confused and sometimes she would cry. Often she didn’t know who I was and I struggled to find things to talk about with her. She was no longer my “Jane Wayne.” She died as she lived her life - alone.

Still, Jane lived for 85 amazing years. I’m in awe of all the changes that she survived. Two World Wars. The Great Depression. Polio and German measles epidemics. She got to experience so many advancements in her lifetime - from riding in a horse and buggy as a child to flying in jets across the Atlantic as a retiree. My spinster aunt was liberated well before the women’s liberation movement. She had a fulfilling job with friends and a huge family to share life’s big events with. She had a busy, interesting life without ever marrying or having children and she never expressed any regrets.  As I look back at Jane’s amazing life, I am the one who has regrets. I regret not encouraging Jane to talk more about her life, to tell me her story before she left us. 

My cousins and I started calling our beloved aunt “Jane Wayne” when we were young simply because it rhymed and was fun to say. I think we even had a theme song for her where we repeated her name over and over. It only recently occurred to me that Jane Wayne might be considered the feminine version of John Wayne, the movie star who was everyone’s big hero when I was a child. Could this mean that perhaps Jane Wayne was a hero in her own way? A SHEro? Instead of pitying Jane for what I thought was her empty, quiet little life, I’ve come to admire her for the courageous life she actually led.

Jane and me (1959)

I married my Heathcliffs

 “He’s more myself than I am. Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.” Cathy from Wuthering Heights

My mom once told me that she named me after the character Cathy from the 1939 movie Wuthering Heights. In this movie (as well as in the book) Cathy and Heathcliff are desperately in love. They roam the moors, wild and free and totally oblivious to the rest of the world. Sadly, eventually the world comes crashing down on them. Cathy realizes that Heathcliff can never give her the security and material things she craves from that world, so she agrees to marry the safe, rich neighbor.

Perhaps that is what my mom hoped I would do. That is certainly what she did when she married my Dad. I don't know if she ever loved anyone like Cathy loved Heathcliff. I know I did - twice! Both times I married inappropriate men because I loved them so much, I felt we were soul mates like Cathy and Heathcliff.

It's testing season AGAIN in Indiana

My latest letter to my State Representative follows:

Dear Rep. Goodrich,

Last Fall I met your mother campaigning for you in front of the Hamilton County Judicial Center.  Although I am a Democrat, she was very persuasive and assured me that you would listen to all sides. She also said you were very supportive of public education and teachers. Based on your support of the proposed state budget proposal, I have my doubts but I hope you'll listen anyway. I'm a middle school librarian and will be giving the ILearn standardized test to a group of 6th grade this year. Although I'm not a classroom teacher, I have been involved in giving the ISTEP for over two decades now. I even spent one summer grading the essay portion of the ISTEP. I consider myself to be very well versed in giving this type of standardized test.

We recently received our schedule for this year's round of test taking. The time allotted for the average child's test-taking is just under nine hours. To ensure there is plenty of time for ALL students to complete the test plus teachers to give instructions and troubleshoot computer glitches, etc., my school has set aside 13 hours between April 24th and May 5th for testing. This does NOT take into account test prep or practice time. The entire school will be on our 2-hour delay schedule for six days. We will use the first  2 hours for testing and cram in actual learning in the remaining time. We'll need two mornings for Math tests, three for ELA, and one for Social Studies. Sixth grade gets an extra morning of testing for Science. 

This is so stressful and disruptive for everyone involved. Students are so dazed on testing days that they are harder to reach later in the day. There is only one real reason for giving these tests and it's NOT to improve Indiana's education. If that were the case, after more than 20 of regular standardized testing we should have the best schools in the world. No, the primary purpose of these tests is to rate our teachers and schools and to qualify for federal funding. I have never seen any of these test used to actually help a struggling student. Scores are sometimes used as justification for placement of a student in a particular program such as Special Education or High Achievement but there are simpler, less costly methods schools can use for this. 

It is my understanding that the three-year contract we have with AIR (American Institute for Research) is estimated to be $43,407,870.08 (see attached.) There are better ways to spend this money including giving our struggling teachers a well-deserved bump in pay.  I personally am 61 years old and currently make less than 50K a year. I have 30 years of experience in public education and a Master's degree. I also still owe over 40K in student loans. I could certainly use a bump in pay before I retire.

If the General Assembly is dead set against raising teacher salaries perhaps you could suggest using these test funds to hire more school personnel. Class size DOES matter - no matter what Betsy DeVos claims - and additional teachers are always needed. As a school librarian, I have found it very disheartening to see what has happened to Indiana's school libraries in the past decade. Since the law only requires one certified school librarian per school district, many of us lost our jobs back in 2010 and were replaced with low paid assistants. There have been many studies that indicate students excel when they have a school library run by a certified librarian. See: https://www.kappanonline.org/lance-kachel-school-librarians-matter-years-research/  If the General Assembly really wants to improve Indiana's education, why not provide the funds (and legislation) for a certified librarian in EVERY school?

Your Legislative Update lists Indiana's funding priorities include education, school safety, and workforce development. Can you explain how ILearn fits into that? After testing students for more than twenty years I can assure you it doesn't. Get out and LISTEN to your teachers if you want REAL solutions.

Why School Librarians Matter - My Story

I was an Indiana high school librarian for twenty-three years. I always knew I’d never get rich as an educator, but I loved my job and felt I was making a positive contribution to the world. I’d finally reached that point on the salary scale where I was no longer living paycheck to paycheck. Then in April 2010, what I later came to consider the “Perfect Storm” hit. I was part of a Reduction In Force (RIF) and was told my contract would not be renewed.

Indiana only requires one licensed librarian per school district and we had three. Our contract required that the librarian with the most seniority would be retained. She was just two years away from retirement and since I had the next highest years of experience, I should have been called back when she left. Unfortunately, the Indiana legislature passed a series of bills attacking public educators and our unions. Indiana teacher unions now can only bargain for salaries and benefits. Any language regarding RIFs was removed. I would NOT be called back.

After two years of unemployment, I finally found a position as a middle school library media specialist. I considered myself lucky despite the fact that my new school district did not have to pay me for my years of experience (I was now making fifteen thousand dollars LESS than I had in 2010). I thought I was finally going to be able to use my library training and expertise again.

I was wrong.

Many Indiana school corporations who had been forced to RIF educators were making “creative staffing” choices that were NOT in our students best interests. At my new school I was assigned to teach a nine-week Keyboarding/Research class that all fifth and sixth-grade students had to take. My teaching duties kept me out of the media center the majority of the day, yet I was still responsible for its operations. Fortunately I had a great assistant that ran the library in my absence…when she wasn’t being pulled to sub, that is.

This kind of “creative staffing” continues to happen not only in Indiana but many other states as well. School librarians are being especially hard hit because let’s face it, administrators don’t consider us crucial in raising test scores or improving academic achievement. This despite the over sixty studies showing that school libraries staffed by qualified school librarians have a positive impact on student achievement. (http://www.ilovelibraries.org/school-libraries/school-libraries-and-student-success)

Additionally, administrators (and even many teachers) really have no idea what librarians actually do. Yes, we check books in and out—a job that anyone can be trained to do—but our Masters in Library Science courses teach us how to do so much more. My library science coursework served me well twenty years ago when I inherited a musty old book collection that desperately needed outdated titles removed while preserving lesser-known classics like Indiana’s own The Magnificent Ambersons (Booth Tarkington). Using numerous selection tools I then updated that collection with fresh new titles that got my students excited about reading again and ultimately tripled our circulation.

Still, the best school libraries are also centers for the newest information technologies. I’m continually learning how to use the latest technology and sharing that knowledge with teachers and students alike. I’ve taught my students how to evaluate online sources so they can weed out fake or biased information. I’ve collaborated with teachers to teach students Standards for the 21st Century Learner information literacy skills. I model lifelong learning by continuing to learn about and apply innovative educational practices. For example, last year I applied for and received a grant to create a makerspace in an unused classroom off of my library.  

Most importantly though, I’ve connected with children and made a difference in their lives. I still remember the first high school student to hug me. She got an A on her term paper and said she never could have done it without my help. Then there’s Joseph, a student with Asperger’s, who initially drove me crazy by constantly asking “Do you have any books on magic, coins, swords…” until I finally taught him how to use the online card catalog effectively. Also Jeff, the computer geek who initially came to the media center to play on the computers and ended up fixing them. He now owns his own computer repair shop. And there was Sara, who admitted to me years later that she came to the library because it was her safe spot, a place to hide from the mean girls. Then I shared some good books with her and she became a lifelong reader.

For many young people, their first and often only exposure to libraries is at school. It’s a safe space where they can go to learn all kinds of things--not just the stuff the teacher expects them to know for the tests—and they become better people for it. Certified school librarians don’t just circulate materials and teach library skills, they help to create lifelong learners. We need to reverse the effects of “creative staffing” and find the funds to make sure that every student has access to a quality school library run by a highly effective certified school librarian every period of the day, every day of the week.