Dad

William Grant Klave in 1946

It’s hard to know what to say or where to begin to write about my dad. He was not my birth father, but he was the only father I ever had. He married my mother when I was five years old—I was at the wedding. It was a beautiful Michigan fall day; I helped Mom and Dad collect red and gold leaves to decorate the windows of the little country church where they were married. Following the ceremony, we lived in a tiny, gray cottage across the street from my new Grandma and Grandpa’s cottage on Portage Lake.

Soon after the wedding, my new Grandma and Grandpa sold that cottage to Mom and my new Dad, and we moved into the home where I lived for the next 15 years. It was a good life—swimming, fishing and boating in summers, and skating and sledding in winters. Dad built a barbecue pit and a picnic table, and we had glorious backyard cookouts in the summer. He’d water the back yard at dusk to make the night crawlers come up so John and I could catch them and then sell them to the fishermen for a little spending money. In the winter Dad cleared the snow from the lake ice and flooded it so we could have a perfectly smooth ice skating rink. Ah yes, we thought it was a good life.

I’m not sure when I realized that all was not The Donna Reed Show or Ozzie and Harriet at our house. Dad left a steady job to start his own small business, worked nights in piano bars and dinner clubs, produced two new babies, and had no family medical insurance. All these would contribute to stress in any marriage. But it was alcoholism that brought down my parents—our family.

“You Ain’t Much Fun Since I Quit Drinkin’.” Toby Keith

Following a drunk-driving arrest, a judge gave him the option of an alcohol recovery program over jail, and Dad began the long process of putting his life back together. He joined Alcoholics Anonymous, and for the rest of his life, he spent holidays and Sundays visiting and counseling other addicts in rehab centers and at AA meetings. My father was bitter that my mother couldn’t get and stay sober. Their last years together before Mom’s death were not pleasant ones. In fact, I would call their lives “hell on earth.” My cousin Charlotte called it “living in the trenches.”

Dad was sober for the last twenty years of his life, but died before he could receive his twenty-year AA sobriety challenge coin. My brothers and I asked the pastor at Dad’s memorial service to use the Serenity Prayer as a foundation for his sermon, and we led the service in the manner of an AA meeting. I began with, “My name is Donna Klave Hodgson, and I’m Bill’s daughter.” Everyone in turn introduced themselves and told the group how they knew Dad. We sat in silence while we listened to a recording of Dad playing some ragtime on the piano, realizing we’d never have him sit down and play for us again.

Dad, I hope you knew how proud we are of your success in your war on alcoholism. I hope we honored you fittingly given the magnitude of your battle. And I pray that you knew—that I made you know—how grateful I am that you chose to be my father.

Love,
Your daughter Donna

The "Life Jacket" Effect

This morning Robert called from his workplace with important news. He had received a promotion and they were negotiating a pay raise. We were, of course, thrilled for him. On our extension phones Jim and I immediately began our ritual: “Don’t forget to remind them (his employer) of how much money your work has saved them this year. Make sure they make up the difference you’ll be losing in overtime pay.” We honestly can’t help ourselves! We are compelled to do this to him.

It was apparent he was anxious to get off the phone with us after a couple of minutes of that—plus he had to get back to work. Moments later I started to feel a little bit on the officious side and tapped out a short email to explain.

Robert Dear,

Whenever you share some important news, I know we always do this to you—start reminding you of all the things you should remember and do. It’s the “life jacket effect,” Kiddo. As I saw you sailing through the air over Lake Grapevine’s black waters, realizing at that moment that I had forgotten to double check your life jacket, my heart pounded in terror. My heart pounds as I write about it.

Telling you later that you should have done this or remembered to ask that would be like making sure the life jacket was fastened after the accidental drowning. It’s a parent thing.

Hope you know we share in your excitement and enjoy contributing when and where we can. Love, Mom

The Boating Adventure

When Robert was a small boy our neighbors invited us to go with them for a day of boating fun on Lake Grapevine. They had one of those inflatable tubes that you can ride in and be dragged behind the speedboat. Robert and I climbed into the tube together and were sailing along over the water when we hit a wake wave and were bounced off the tube and hurled separately through the air. The waters of Lake Grapevine are murky at best—a grown man can’t see his feet in four feet of water. It was at that moment that I remembered that I had forgotten to check to make sure Robert’s life jacket was properly fastened. Fortunately, the other mom had checked it for him.

It still haunts me. I still see the black water of the lake in my dreams. My heart races now as I write about it. As I paddled through the water to reach him, silently firing off one prayer of thanks after another, I knew I’d never forget that moment. I felt as if God had fired a warning shot at me: “Pay attention! Always remember to check Our boy’s life jacket!”

Later, when Robert was beginning to gain more and more independence, I would remind him of the dangers he might encounter as he set out on his adventures. We talked about “stranger danger;” I taught him about parking lot safety and internet safety. The poor boy practically had zits before I’d let him go into a men’s room by himself at the mall. Whenever he would set out without me, I’d think, “Did I teach him everything I could to keep him safe?

So Robert, my dear, I hope you understand that ever since that day on Lake Grapevine, I've just been trying to make sure your Life Jacket is fastened.

Donna