It’s 5 am and I have just woken up, in time to see the sunrise, hurrah!

My family is number one to me. I dream about them all the time. Let me tell you a few things about them, at least the ones I actually met and knew in my lifetime. Today, my Paternal side.

My Paternal Grandfather, Earl Abram Laycock, was born May 5th, 1887 in Kansas. He died in 1974, the first death in my young life; he was eighty-seven, as you can see. I was six so my memories of Grampa L are a little vague. He was, in my young eyes, always ancient. He wore a hearing aid that had a cord which he wrapped around a lamp: I always thought he was hooked into the lamp. He was a gentle soul, kindly and steadfast. In his life, he saw so much. He worked as a steam shovel operator and helped build roads all over the central part of the US. When I am in the car with Nathan and we drive past a part of a road that has been blasted out, you know, when you see the long straight drill markings in the face of the rock where they would drop down the dynamite, I always wonder, did my Grandfather work on this road? He was working as a dredger on the Mississippi when he was called up, at age thirty-one, to go to war. This was The Great War, WW1, mind you, not WW2. He went to France and was in the trenches. He was active in the Veterans of Foreign Wars, as well as the Oddfellows and possibly Masons too- I’m not sure. Many super-secret societies. I wish I had been older when I knew Grandpa. I would have liked to ask him a lot of questions about his life. But then, I was older with my other Grandparents and didn’t ask them much; a child is not necessarily interested in such things.

My Paternal Grandmother, Ina Elizabeth Davis, was born in 1899 in Fredericktown, Missouri. A real turn of the century baby! She died in 1983, also in Fredericktown, where she spent most of her life. Hers was the first death that really impacted me. Grandma L was an imposing and impressive woman. She was a faithful Methodist, very active in her church. She had been a teacher, and also the Principal of the high school in Fredericktown. With a sweet smile, she was always up for ice cream from the Dairy Queen down the street. I was fifteen When Grandma died, at a very complicated and uncomfortable age, and her death was rough on me, and on everyone in the family. I remember it was a Sunday, Father’s Day. Poor Dad. Again I say I wish I had been a little less self-absorbed at the age and had sat down with Grandma and asked her questions. There’s a great story about her that my Grandfather was on the outskirts of Fredericktown, working on the roads when Grandma took one look at him and decided then and there that he was the man for her. I am sure the courtship was short and sweet and that she was totally in control of the situation. She was a controlling woman, in a good way, and when she had a series of strokes that left her partially disabled, she was reluctant to let go of control and be helped. I remember she had a series of caretakers in her home, she never trusted them. I have some letters and cards she wrote in a shaky left hand, her right side was paralyzed by the strokes. I also remember, vividly, the time shortly after her death, I wrote an essay about it which you can find here.

My Dad.

How do I write about a man who is so impactful in my life?

Frank Earl Laycock was born in January 1933 in Fredericktown, Missouri. He was Earl and Ina’s only son, a real blessing to older parents. Frank and Ina moved around the country, staying as lodgers or with family as Grandpa was out working on the roads or in quarries. He was a bright, intelligent child, and he went to college at Northeast Missouri State, studying chemistry. One day, by accident, he stumbled into a meeting of the Drama Club and was infected by the theater bug. He changed his major to theater and tore up the stage. He must have studied education and speech too, I’m not exactly sure of his majors. He enlisted in the army and served as a speech therapist in France, it was in between war times, so he never saw “action” for which I am sure he is grateful; my father is a man of peace.

When he got home from France he got a job teaching Speech and Theater, and as the Drama Director, at Whitefish Bay High School, an affluent suburb of Milwaukee. It was there that he met a beautiful young student teacher named Kathrine Charlotte Atwood. He knew she was the one. They courted and married in 1961 on May 27th (Yes, their 60th anniversary is this year!). Their Son Frank Albert was born in August 1964 and they welcomed a precious, perfect angel of a baby girl that they named Mary Elizabeth (after the two steamships that carried them to and from England on their honeymoon) in February 1968.

Dad was a high school teacher at Whitefish Bay High School for all of his working life. The little family lived in a small ranch house in the suburbs of Brown Deer, Wisconsin. It wasn’t an opulent life, but we wanted for nothing (except, a young Mary would argue, a horse. Give it up, buttercup.) Frank took care of his family and his drama kids at the high school, directing plays and coordinating talent shows.

Frank is a kind man, gentle and loving. A good father, even if the plays took him away from home a lot. He always provided, both for our physical needs and with love. It was a grand childhood to play in the huge theater… running up and down the aisles and hanging out backstage. I was enthralled with lighting gels and especially loved the sample tag books. We’d play up in the catwalks. Had free rein, really. Oh, the smell of the greasepaint and wood and muslin, the theater has its own smells. I loved that theater and my Dad, and some of my fondest childhood memories are there. I guess I was sad that I couldn’t go to Whitefish Bay which was a big castle of a school, and their fabulous Drama program, I was stuck at ratty old Brown Deer high which did a musical every other year on the stage in the cafeteria and did no plays whatsoever and only cast the upper crust of the Madrigal singer’s chorus which was not me. I had acting chops that I never got to flex until I hit college with a theater major (you see how much Dad impacted me). I was weaned on classic musicals, and I love it (though would be perfectly happy never to see Oklahoma again…). But this is supposed to be about him, not me. Whitefish Bay named their theater lobby after my dad and put up his picture when he retired. They held a Pagent in his honor and the men’s chorus sang “One” from A Chorus Line changing “she” to “he”. I was so proud that day.

Retirement has been good for Dad. Mom and Dad moved to Cedar Community Retirement Village, they live in a lovely little home there. Dad is an avid photographer, and he takes amazing pictures that he makes into note cards. He drives the “bug” which is a cute little extended golf cart all over the Village to show people the sights. He does crosswords and Suduko and he loves technology. You may have heard that seniors are not good with tech: you haven’t met my Dad! He’s a wiz and devoted to Apple products. He and Mom still love to travel, they’ve gone out to the Pacific Northwest to see Sam, their only and beloved grandson, more than I have. Dad’s back has gotten quite bent, now but it doesn’t slow him down. He also has lost most of his hearing and has a cochlear implant. He has his super walker to support him. They used to usher at the Rep in Milwaukee, but I’m not sure if they’ll still do that now.

My Dad was never a wealthy man, but he is rich in what counts: love of family, and his faith, and love of good art in whatever form it takes, be it TV Scandinavian Noir or live theater and music, or amazing new tech. He is devoted to his wife and children. He is steadfast and you can always count on him for words of wisdom, help, and really bad Dad jokes. I’ve always had a really good relationship with my father. I guess during my teenage years I was kind of antagonistic towards him, but that phase did not last long. I have always been his little sweetheart, even though I am not little anymore. Dad, I love you to the moon and back.