For the Love of a
Father
My first visit to the
Bradley home on Second Avenue was in 1969 when I was dating Bob, the oldest of
the fourteen Bradley children. As we entered the home, we were invited into the
kitchen. It was packed with people of all ages who were sitting and standing
around eating avocado sandwiches served on Mom Bradley's delicious homemade
wheat bread. Bob introduced me, and I was immediately offered a bite of
someone's huge avocado sandwich. I love avocados. I grew up in California with
an avocado tree, so the bite was hard to resist, but I couldn't see myself
chomping into some stranger's sandwich.
What I would come to learn about
the Bradley family was that everyone shared everything and in abundance. I was
introduced to the huge, metal milk machine. When I pulled the handle, my glass
instantly filled with ice cold, refreshing milk. When we gathered around the
dining table, a delicious meal of roast, carrots, mashed potatoes and gravy,
salad, and rolls was passed around until we were full. Having come from a home
with only three children, and where both parents worked, we ate a lot of TV
dinners, so eating with the Bradleys was truly a feast.
In the kitchen, I
watched the two littlest sisters, Barbara and Lisa, bake what seemed like a
hundred chocolate chip cookies for all to enjoy. Leftovers were frozen to pack
in school lunches. I watched David lie down on the couch with his head in an
older sister's lap and watched her play with his hair. I heard Betsy yell to her
siblings, "Who wants to make a 7-Eleven stop?" and they jumped in the car and
were off. When I visited Dad's home furnishings store, I saw a few handsome
young men and women, who had been taught by their father how to be gracious and
professional as they engaged with customers. It was the Bradley way.
In
the evening when dad walked into the house, I watched him put his arms around
each child, give a kiss on the lips, and say, "I love you." Dad had been known
to come home and awaken a baby just to kiss him good night. Having grown up in a
home without this kind of loving attention, as I experienced all this, I knew in
my heart, beyond any doubt, that this was the family that I wanted to be
connected with forever--such an abundance of everything I ever wanted in my
life.
A year later, Bob and I decided to get married, which brought yet
another abundant experience into my life, as mom sewed my wedding dress, dad and
the kids re-landscaped the backyard, and the entire family catered the most
fabulous wedding feast for our reception.
What I was to learn as time
went on was that dad came from a family with nothing. He watched his father walk
out and drive away when he was seven years old. His mother went to work at a
department store to provide for her children, and they moved into the unfinished
basement of his Aunt Nelly's house. Dad found jobs at a young age delivering
newspapers, stocking shelves, and working in sales. He worked hard his entire
life. He served in his church and paid his tithing--once even mortgaging his
home to pay it.
Dad's greatest love was his family, and he wanted his
children to have a happy home. They all loved to laugh. Over the years, the Lord
blessed him financially. Later in life, he invested in wonderful places for his
extended family to gather for family reunions to help them stay connected. He
bought a large home in Park City, Utah and later in St. George, Utah as
gathering places. He provided funds for family reunions held at the beach,
mountain chateaus, water parks, and roller rinks. He prepaid for events that
would continue on into the future as well as booked cruises for his children and
their spouses to enjoy together for years to come.
But even more
importantly, Dad was personally in touch with the lives of each of his children,
grandchildren, and great grandchildren. He wanted all of our families to be
successful, so he compiled books for us. As he became acquainted with the
Internet, he began sending us weekly email messages of love and hope and advice.
Whenever I responded to him, he always got back to me with a loving message in a
day or two. He loved me as one of his own. Dad had the gift of drawing many
people into his life.
The remarkable thing
about Dad was that he was diabetic and blind. This could have made his world
very small and protected, but his desire to reach out and to love only
grew.
On Friday, December 30, over 500 people flocked to Dad's funeral.
Amazing to me were the many grandchildren who traveled from all over the country
(New York, Oregon, Arizona, Idaho, Connecticut, Colorado, Vermont, California,
Ohio, Chicago, Kansas City, Boston, Virginia, and Alaska) to pay their last
respects to their grandfather.
Dad requested that the funeral service be
kept to one hour, and then the feast--oh the feast! He had reserved two
ballrooms at the Little America Hotel, and requested a beautifully catered
banquet to feed his entire family--14 children, 86 grandchildren, 231 great
grandchildren, and one great-great grandchild.
"Then the Whos, young
and old, would sit down to a feast.
And they'd feast! And they'd
feast!
And they'd FEAST! FEAST! FEAST! FEAST!"--Dr. Seuss
He
just wanted us to have a great, old time on the day of his funeral! Such love
and abundance! This is what I learned from Dad, our dear and beloved Father.
Because of him, like a giant redwood tree, our roots grow wide, so that we
connect with hundreds of others, so that we hold each other up, so that
together, we weather the storms of life. It takes the talents of all of us, as
Dad well knew, as he drew on his children's strengths for support in making all
of his dreams come true to the end.
I feel blessed and grateful to be
connected to the Bradley family. Dad taught us to stand strong, to be courageous
and resilient, and to stay together forever. Dad's last gift was a beautiful
minted coin given at his funeral to each person in the family. His family motto,
"No Empty Chairs," is imprinted on this coin and will be forever stamped in our
hearts.
We will all be together
again, Dad. Thank you . . . for everything.
With great love and
appreciation,
Lonnie
