A Thank You Letter to Dad

Tried to think what I should/could do for your birthday and then it hit me.  I should say Thank you.

Here’s what happened.   That old John Howard Yoder stuff was brought up again – about his problems with women.  I looked at some of the stuff and wondered why women didn’t complain, didn’t go to the police, didn’t make a big stink when John Howard “molested” them.  I was told by several women that they did complain, but because they were Mennonite women of a certain generation, they only complained to his supervisors/employers and, in some cases, their pastors.  I was also told that all of these hundreds of complaints were hidden away somewhere in Elkhart because of who John Howard was; that this was covered up by the Mennonite church for years.  I have asked specifically what it was that John Howard did, since I’ve never heard any details of what sins he committed.  Did he compliment some prickly woman on how she looked or did he rape someone?  No one can (or will) give me a specific answer.  I wondered, “Out of hundreds of women of my generation who were bothered, molested, complimented, raped, whatever by JHY, there was not one “Take-no-shit-Daughter of Daniel?  Not one?”

So, I started thinking about why this kind of stuff happens.  I started thinking about how I figured out what to do when approached by men soon after I started my first job as a secretary at a law firm in Chicago, in 1973.  I’ve never told you this, but it wasn’t easy – there were no sympathetic (let alone powerful) women lawyers, there was no EEOC, there was no one to complain to if a man bothered you.  You were on your own.  It didn’t take long to realize that the men for whom I worked expected certain benefits, shall we say?  Within a couple of months of starting the job, I knew exactly who was sleeping with who.  And I soon knew that once it was over, the woman was the one who lost her job.  I determined that would never happen to me.  So, the first time someone approached me, I acted dumb and said, “I’m just a little Mennonite girl from the country.  I don’t know what you’re talking about.”  Man, you should have seen his face!  I KNOW he had visions of a little Amish girl, with a covering and long dress, in a buggy!  Worked like a charm.

As time went on, I got older and bolder.  A managing partner once said something kind of creepy to me.  The first time I ignored him.  A couple days later, another remark.  I got up, went to his office, shut the door and said, “We need to talk. You’ve made some remarks in the last couple days that I don’t like and I wish you’d stop.” His face got beet red, he knew exactly what I was talking about and said, “Oh, come on, Bender, you know I was just playing.”  “No, Billy, I don’t know that.  And, if you just don’t say anything like that to me ever again, I won’t have to wonder, will I?  And, by the way, I play with my friends.  This is my job and I’d like to keep it on a professional level.  Understood?”  Never had another problem with him.

One evening, an on-again, off-again boyfriend of way-back-when got on my last nerve.  I remember demanding that he leave my apartment and went to open the door.  He grabbed my arm and said, “I’m not going anywhere.  Try and make me.”  He was at least a foot taller and probably 80 pounds heavier than me.  I puffed myself up to all 5’2” of me and said, “Get the hell out of my house.  If you don’t the next view you’ll have will be from the floor here in front of my door and it will be painful.”  Don’t know what I planned to do, but it sounded good.  He left.  I never saw him again.

I started thinking about some of my experiences with men on and off over the years and I wondered how I had the nerve to do and say some of the things I did.  And then it hit me.  I grew up with Dad.  I don’t know if you ever came right out and said it, but the lessons I learned from you were to never let anyone hurt me without telling, to not allow people to disrespect me, to always stand up for myself, to think for myself, to tell the truth, to never let anyone pressure me to do or believe something I didn’t want to.  Maybe it was your example – it certainly was your example – but I think you said it, too.  I remember you telling me that I had to read the Bible and think about what it meant and pray and come to a faith of my own.  Certainly, if that important area of my life was one I had to determine and control, so were others.  I think I told you about an attorney I worked for whose parents had been Church of Christ missionaries – he once asked me about the fact that I still believed (he claimed he didn’t) and I told him what you said.  He said, “You are so lucky to have had a Dad who was that wise, who knew you had to come to faith on your own.”  I laughed and said, “You’re just a child; read the Bible, pray about it, think about it, and you’ll get there too.  It doesn’t happen when you’re 26!”  He was one of the best, kindest, most respectful people I ever worked with and we’re still in touch. 

One last story.  Just before we retired, one of the Seyfarth partners came to my desk and said, “You know, every single attorney in this firm knows you.”  Yeah, right, all 400 of them know me.  “Well, they don’t KNOW you, but they know you.  Want to know what they call you?  The secretary who won’t take any shit.”  I laughed and said I’d wear that title with pride!  He said, “Here’s the rest of the story.  When they hear you’re available for an assignment, they’re beating the door down at HR trying to get you to work for them.  They all know you!”  Your lessons, your advice, your instructions worked, Dad!

So, thank you.  Thank you for your advice and instruction; thank you for your example.  Thank you for your love and care and protection.  Sorry it took me 64 years to figure this out, but glad you’re still around to thank!  Thank you.