Yesterday Jana’s dad passed away.

Mike Scaggs.

He’d been sick for some time.

Although some comfort can be found in the fact that he’s no longer in pain It’s still not fair.

He was 53 years old.

Jana’s Christmases and Thanksgivings will never be quite the same.

Our baby will know him only through the stories we tell.

And we won’t have any pictures of him holding our baby.

Mike was a big guy.

Tall, broad shoulders, and smile nearly as wide.

He was thin. A Quarterback not a Linebacker.

Literally.

He still holds several football records at his high school.

Being an athlete, a coal miner, and generally active guy it was doubly cruel when he was stricken with a rare and incredibly aggressive form of multiple sclerosis.

It took only two years for the disease to completely immobilize him.

Still those that knew him are at least thankful that it happened quick. Mike couldn’t stand the thought of being helpless. Trapped in his own unresponsive body.

For what it’s worth … we are all relieved that his pain, frustration, and fatigue are over.

I remember the day I asked him for permission to marry his daughter.

You see when Jana and I were serious enough that we knew getting married was on the horizon I told her I would need to talk to her dad before I ever asked her.

A lot of people don’t bother with that these days, but the way I figured it, the whole thing about the father walking the bride down the aisle indicates that the couple has his blessing. That being the case I should probably make sure we had it.

So not surprisingly Jana had been taking me down to Petersburg quite often, giving me every opportunity to talk to him. And I would not do it. I wanted my proposal to be a complete surprise so I certainly wasn’t going to give her any idea I had talked to him.

I called him one night , told him I’d like to talk to him, and could I come down to visit. Now Petersburg is at least two and half hours away from my house so at that point he had to have some idea what was up. He suggested that we meet half way.

So late that night, while Jana was at work, I met Mike in a Denny’s somewhere in Bloomington. And as Mike liked to say got his daughter “for a sixty nine cent cup of coffee.”

For the record though I also had chicken strips so I actually had to lay out something like four dollars in order to win Jana’s hand.

All joking aside it was, of course, the event itself that was important. In my mind it was just the right thing to do. A simple respectful gesture to the family I was hoping to become a part of.

But it was more important to Mike than I had known at the time.

And aside from cementing what was already the beginnings of a great relationship with the Scaggs family … I gained a deeper insight into who mike was.

We shared a few important beliefs in what, to us, was just plain right.

Our families weren’t all that different apparently.

One of the many reasons I feel so much a part of theirs… and I hope they feel of mine.

He was Jana’s dad.

Which is, I’m sure, at least one of the many reasons Jana is the person she is.

For that I will be forever thankful to Mike.

Mike was able to walk Jana down the aisle - and I will forever be glad for that.

I will forever be grateful for that late night hour and a half trip to Denny’s.

Because I knew that walk wasn’t simply ceremony.

It was real.

There’s no doubt he will be greatly missed.

I am glad however that he’s no longer in pain. No longer chair bound.

Whatever the check-in procedure is for the after life I can’t help but picture Mike strutting up to the counter and ringing the bell.

Ok wow.

Things are busy busy.

Not much time to Blog… but here goes.

Today I want to tell you all a little story.

My grandfather passed away this past weekend.

I’m not going to dwell on it here on the site, but I thought I’d share a little story about him.

A humble little tribute I suppose, but that much at least must be done.

Everything else can wait for a future Blog.

When I was young we would celebrate Christmas on my Mom’s side of the family at Grandma & Grandpa’s house.

It was a quaint little house.

I always liked it there.

As soon as you entered the back door (as we always did) you were faced with a decision. Up the steep flight of stairs to the kitchen, or down the stairs to the basement.

I liked the basement. It was very large, had a shower, a walk-in closet that held all sorts of canned goods. And there were about a million forgotten things in there. As a kid it was like exploring a ship wreck. You never knew if you would find the special little nick knack that would end up being infinitely valuable. (perhaps in a sentimental sense only… but valuable none the less)

And of course the basement was always nice and cool. At least 10 degrees cooler.

Regardless of how wonderful the basement was… we always chose to go up to the kitchen, and enter the house. (basement exploring would have to wait until after we’ve said hello).

There was always a candy dish in the living room.

It was full of “grandma candy”. But when you are a kid and the only candy around is “grandma candy”… that’ll do.

Just off the living room was a little room housing a piano and a guitar.

Sometimes I’d ask grandpa to play the guitar a bit, and sit amazed at how effortlessly he made music.

(Mostly though I’d just sit back there and mess around on the piano until Mom and Dad couldn’t take it any longer.)

Christmas there was pretty low key.

Which was nice.

But every now and then someone would get a hall tree as a present! My grandpa was incredible with building things, and wood working in general. It was always so cool to see someone get an item he made.

The thing is…

First Ted got one.

Then Reagan.

It didn’t take long to figure out that the hall tree, as great as it was, was a right of passage.

It signified that you were one of the big kids now. And that you should expect the future Christmas presents to reflect that.

In other words… there wouldn’t be as many.

And the ones you got would be more appropriate for older kids.

Clothes.

5 bucks.

Nothing at all.

Still I wanted that hall tree like you wouldn’t believe!!

He always put something on the bottom to mark the hall tree as yours when you got it.

I was so happy the year I got my hall tree!!

It was unreal how excited I was. Of course I had to play it down… I was a big kid now after all.

That’s the kind of man he was. He could pull off something so everyday and yet so special that a kid at Christmas was glad to get the signal that sweaters would replace baseball gloves.

Wow.

I still have that hall tree.

Still use it too.

I imagine I always will.

After all… it’s got my name on the bottom.

Everett Tarr, my Grandpa, will be missed.

As much as possible we will miss him with smiles.

He gave us enough to last.