Anniversary ...

Mom's father is on her right; her mother (Alma), at the far left in the photo; her brother, Ronald, next to my dad

Mom and Dad were married seventy-nine years ago tomorrow—October 12, 1939. Charles Edward Dyer (he was 26) to Prudence Estelle Osborn (she was 20).

I’ve mentioned here before the odd coincidence that their marriage in 1939 was followed by mine to Joyce in 1969 and by our son’s (Steve’s) to Melissa in 1999. That means that one (or both) of their sons (now 9 and 13) must marry in 2029. I hope I’m around to witness that double marriage.

Mom and Dad had three sons: Richard Morgan Dyer (December 29, 1941); Daniel Osborn [my mother’s maiden name] Dyer (November 11, 1944); Edward Davis [Dad’s mother’s maiden name] Dyer (September 17, 1948).

Our folks were married in Enid, Oklahoma, a service performed at University Place Christian Church by Mom’s father, Dr. G. Edwin Osborn, a Disciples of Christ minister and professor of religion at Enid’s Phillips University.  (Founded in 1907, the university closed in 1998. Both of my parents attended it; Dad taught there until 1956 when he took a new position at Hiram College.).

Our parents were wonderful human beings. Dad, born on a farm near Milton-Freewater, Oregon, one of nearly a dozen children, was a superior high school athlete (football, track--a sprint champion). He could hit a baseball a country mile. He worked his way through college during the Depression, married Mom, enlisted in the Army as World War II commenced, served as a chaplain in both the Pacific and European Theaters, earned a Bronze Star for courage under fire, transferred to the Air Force, stayed in the Air Force Reserves, retiring as a Lt. Colonel. He taught at Hiram College from 1956-66, then moved with Mom to Drake University in Des Moines, Iowa, where his good friend, former Hiram College president Paul Sharp, had recently assumed the reins.

Mom bore the brunt of the child-rearing (though Dad was a great and supportive presence), and we were three very different and challenging boys. (Nuff said!) Eventually, she got a teaching certificate, earned her master’s and doctorate (the latter at the Univ. of Pittsburgh), and, after a ten-year career teaching English at James A. Garfield High School in Garrettsville, Ohio, joined Dad on the faculty at Drake in 1966. They retired in the late 1970s and built a home on the coast in Cannon Beach, Oregon,  a place they loved, a place they stayed until Dad’s health began to fail. They built a more elder-friendly place in nearby Seaside, Oregon, but they did not stay long.

They soon moved to Pittsfield, Mass., not far from a summer/weekend/holiday place (an old farmhouse) my two brothers had bought in Becket, Mass., up in the Berkshires. (Both brothers lived--and still live--in the Boston area.)

Both Dad and Mom experienced very slow and painful declines. Cane, walker, wheelchair, bed …such a sad cycle to witness. Dad died at age 86 in November 1999; Mom lived until March 2018. She was 98 when she died.

One of the most striking things I remember about Dad—how thoroughly he supported Mom’s decisions to continue her education, to pursue her Ph.D., to become the superior scholar and educator he’d always known she could be.

No marriage is a gooshy Disney film, and—especially later—they had some rough periods. But they were both marvelous models for me—though, I confess, it took me a few years (okay, decades) to realize it. Their work ethic, their belief in the immense value of the life of the mind, their devotion to each other, to their families, to their children (and grandchildren—and great-grandchildren)—these are lessons I learned by watching them. By loving them.

And now--every day--I think of them--miss them--deeply, profoundly miss them.  And October 12 will forever after be a rough day for me. It is the first year of my life that I have had no parent to call, to congratulate.