Happy Birthday, Daddy

January 11, 2016

My Dad, Everett Eugene Rouse, turned 92 on the 7^th of this month.

Daddy grew up in the midst of the Depression.  Most of his early years were spent on a small farm in eastern Kansas.  His father, Elbert Rouse, operated a gas station, worked odd jobs, and did what he could to feed his family.  Daddy remembers eating potatoes every meal and how happy everyone would be when there was squirrel or rabbit on the menu.  He wore hand-me-downs from his two older brothers and put cardboard in the soles of his shoes when they wore through.

When the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor Daddy was sixteen.  He remembers listening to the radio address by President Roosevelt, and how the attack galvanized the whole nation.  When he graduated from Fredonia High School, he tried to join the army.  They rejected him because he was deaf in one ear – probably from a childhood illness.

Papa worked for the Post Office for a while, then as a mechanic in a small shop.  He started to work for Beech Aircraft in Wichita, Kansas in the late 1940’s, and would work there for the next 37 years, until he retired.  He had a strong work ethic.  I don’t know how many times I heard as a kid growing up, “If you’re willing to work, you’ll always have a job.”

Daddy would marry my mother, Beatrice Marie Rouse, in 1948.  They met on a blind date around Valentine’s Day, then married in July of that same year.  They would go on to share more than sixty three years together.  Daddy had previously been engaged to another woman, but he broke it off with her when she told him she would quit smoking, then he caught her still lighting up. 

I’m the oldest of four children.  We never had much money as I grew up.  Mom was a stay-at-home Mom, and Papa didn’t make a lot of money at Beech.  However, we always had enough.  We moved out to a farm near Benton, Kansas in the early sixties, and food was never an issue.  Daddy made sure we planted a huge garden, and we always kept chickens and raised cattle and hogs.  Mom would can hundreds of quarts of green beans, corn, peas, tomatoes, pears, peaches, and apples.  We kept milk cows and so milk, cream, butter, and cheese were never an issue.

Papa was baptized for the remission of his sins in the late 1940’s – in major part won to the Lord because of my Mom’s faith and faithfulness.  He would serve as a deacon in the church of Christ for years, then eventually as an elder for more than thirty years.  As a child growing up, if the doors of the building were open, we were there for services.  Dad took his faith very seriously.  One of the memories of him I’ll always carry with me is him sitting in his chair in the living room with his Bible in his lap, studying for a class he would be teaching at Sunday School.

Mom died in 2011.  Daddy, who had always been an active and vigorous man, despite hip and knee surgeries and a bout with colon cancer, really went downhill after she passed away.  It was like half of him died when she did.  Within a year, we had to put him in a nursing home, and he has been there ever since.  His hearing and eyesight are pretty well gone, and his mind is finding it easier and easier to forget, but he still has a sense of humor and the Rouse appetite for food is as strong as ever.

Please indulge me in a few observations about a good man who’s lived 92 years so far.

Folks who grew up in the Depression are marked by that experience.  Daddy never threw anything away if he even remotely thought it could be used again.  He pulled nails out of boards, straightened them out, and put them in jars for future use.  On the farm we had lots of old tire tubes around because they could be patched if necessary;  buckets of screws and washers; used auto parts and spark plugs; he kept every tool he ever had, no matter what shape it might be in.  He wasn’t a hoarder, just the ultimate recycler.  In a day and time of throw away everything, I think about a man who really valued what he had.

Papa is a highly moral man.  He held himself to a high standard, and he did the same with others.  Some would probably call him judgmental, and with some justification.  But it is also undeniable that my father was an honorable man.  I have never known of my father to lie, ever.  His word was always his bond.  Always.  I never knew him to welch on a debt or obligation of any kind.  His speech was always pure – free of the cursing you hear so much today.  Daddy was once accused by a man he supervised at work of discriminating against him.  Part of the accusation was that Dad cursed him on the job.  All the charges were dropped when those investigating heard from Daddy’s fellow employee’s “If that man claims Big E (that’s what they called him at work) cursed him out, he’s lying.  Big E don’t cuss.”

My father has taught, by his life, the value of faithfulness.  He was absolutely faithful to my Mother.  I never saw him conduct himself in any way other than honorable toward any woman.  He has lived a life of faithfulness to His Lord.  If you spent any time with or around him, there would never be a question of his devotion to the Lord and His will.

Daddy recently asked me why he was still around; why God hasn’t taken him home.  He’s frustrated with his physical limitations and his inability to work and serve.  That’s what he spent his whole life doing.  I told him God numbers our days and he obviously wasn’t done with Papa yet.  I said maybe he’s left him here still to remind the rest of us about the importance of living your life right.

Happy birthday, Daddy.  I love you.