Howard J. Headings - Oct 7, 1920 - Feb 3, 1988

I've been thinking a lot about my dad. Yesterday was the twentieth anniversary of his death.

My memories of the early years have softened over time, as my understanding and compassion have increased. One of the things I grieve is that I didn't know my dad in the same way some of my younger siblings did . . . he and mother made some significant changes in their openness and world view in the twenty plus years after I'd married and left the area. What I saw as an adult was a dad who loved all of us children and his grandchildren. We were always welcomed home, we were always greeted with big hugs and beaming smiles, often on the sidewalk before we got to the house. He died a young 67, so the grandchildren were all youngsters, and he often read to them. We have pictures of him reading with little children on both knees and the arms of the chair, all around him.

My dad was a gentle and loving man, trusting and faithful to us and to God. I don't ever remember him raising his hand to strike or spank any of us, I really can't remember him raising his voice. Though I don't remember playing with him at all, I remember helping in the barn sometimes, especially in the hay mow. What I most remember are the verbal tangles we'd get into when I was beginning to think and ask questions. Usually the conversations went something like . . .

"Can I . . . ."
"No."
"Why can't I . . ."
"Because."
"Because why?"
"Because I said so." or "Because the church says so."

And I would get so angry that the answer was so definite but never a reason that made sense. And I would storm out of the room. In those days it seemed like every answer was "no", either because I was a girl or because the church said so. I grew to hate being a girl and hate being a Mennonite.

Now I know that the 50's and 60's were difficult years for my folks. Not only were these financially challenging times (we were some of the poorest Mennonites in the community, or so it seemed to me), but also, the church was still a very strong voice of authority. If you buy into the "birth order" theories, my dad and mom were both middle children. They tried really hard to follow the rules, to submit to the church's authority. I never ever remember them voicing any kind of challenge to what the church was teaching in those days . . . they had no idea the wounds that this setting caused me . . . and I had no appreciation for their attempts to be faithful. Their submissiveness meant that our home was more strict than most of the other Mennonite homes, some of our rules were not followed by the other families.

Two very significant situations helped me to see my dad in a new light. In the late '70's I was deeply involved in the charismatic movement, participating fully in a women's organization called "Women Aglow". At one of the monthly meetings, I remember feeling convicted to write him a letter and ask his forgiveness for my rebellious attitudes and actions, and for the pain my behavior must have caused him. To my surprise, within a few days, I received a letter from him in the mail. It is the only personal letter I ever got from him. An excerpt:

"Concerning your 'rebellious years' I forgave you at that time. I never held it against you at all. I realize you children grew up during very difficult and changing years. It was hard for me to accept the changes as it was for you to conform to the old traditional ways. But I hope thru the changes we have all grown closer to the Lord and understand the Word better thru reading and fellowship with fellow Christians. . . With love and more love, Dad"

It was the first time I began to see those years from his perspective!

The other significant piece was a class at Etown College taught by Beulah Stauffer Hostetler, based on her book about the influence of fundamentalism on the Mennonites in the American experience. It was quite a revelation to me to place my parents in that historical setting . . . in some ways, given their personalities, I saw them, especially my dad, as somewhat of a victim of the times as much as I was. Although I don't think he ever felt a victim, and I have moved away from that identity as well. Thankfully.

After dad's funeral, I requested a copy of the tape and transcribed it. Today I went back and read it again. I know not everyone appreciates spontaneous sharing in public services, but for me, it was an invaluable window into how other people experienced my dad in those later years. Though I did not know him in the same way on a day to day basis, their experiences were congruent with the glimpses I saw.

Enough musing. At this time in my life, I realize the gift my parents were to me. They were loving and forgiving and faithful and welcoming. Even with the harshness of rules, they valued relationships . . . when there were divisive events within the extended family and within the church community (spelled d-i-v-o-r-c-e), they refused to take sides, but worked to maintain relationships with everyone. What a gift, what an example.