my father-in-law

The first time I met my father-in-law I told an inappropriate joke. At the time I was working as an activity director at a retirement home where part of my job was to drive the 20-passenger bus to and from various outings. When asked if it made me nervous, I said something to the effect of, "Not for them, they've had a good life, but I'm young yet and have a lot of living to do!" I quickly looked up, realizing it might not be the ideal thing to say to the hot boy's parents I was trying to impress, but I saw Dad S was laughing quietly to himself. It was then I knew I had him hooked. I joked for several years about how I was his favorite daughter-in-law, but then Greg's brothers started getting married to impeccably wonderful and gracious women, to the point it was no longer even a slightly plausible and tasteful joke to tell. (Not that, my father would say, that has stopped me before.) As an only daughter in my family, I didn't know how to share the glory, but somehow Dad still makes me feel like I'm the special one.

Dad's mom, Mildred, grew up in Prarie View, Kansas. When her family lost everything in the Dust Storm, her parents brought her and her sisters to Denver to find work. She soon married a young man from her hometown, had one kid and was (unbeknowest to her) pregnant with her second when he died on Christmas Day from a blood clot after a routine surgery. Mildred moved to Alamosa, CO, where she worked as custodian of a church and raised her son and daughter alone for several years, but began writing letters to her first husband's best friend, Alfred Schemper, who was living in Denver, until they decided to marry. Kenneth Schemper (Dad S) was born just over five pounds, the first of four more kids--two boys then two girls. Alfred was a man of few

words. Granted, I only met him the one time at our wedding and he kept falling asleep while sitting on the couch, and Grandma talked enough for the both of them. He died a month later of heart failure. Dad got his looks and calm demeanor from his dad, and his humor and conversational skills from his mom (though, he doesn't typically showcase these skills as much as his mother does).

The only story I've heard about Dad from when he was young was how he did not want to attend kindergarten, so instead of walking to school, he'd hide in the garage. I picture a little brown-eyed brown-haired boy (the Beaver only cuter and not as naughty) hiding behind a car until his mom found him each day. I find this quiet rebellion delightful. Even when I picture it in my own husband as a child, and, even, in our daughters (who, of course it would stand to reason, inherited their brute stubbornness from the Schemper side).

Dad began his college career at Dordt College (Yay!), then for one reason or another, he decided to transfer to Calvin College, where he majored in Business. In preparation for his

childhood friend's wedding, he met one Barbara Jo Walcott (the best friend and cousin of the bride). Amongst other things, Dad had the strong, steady calm Mom craved, and Mom had a joyfilled beauty Dad noticed, and so they quickly started dating, fell in love, and became engaged the night of the wedding. (Yes, they are a real live Ken and Barbie!) They married, bought a trailer home in Freemont, MI, and had their first child, Kurt Allan. They bought a home before kid number two came along, my Greg Kenneth. They soon

moved to Grand Haven, and added another baby, Keith Ryan. When Keith was four months old, the five of them packed up and moved to Nigeria, West Africa, where Dad maintained the finances for missionaries, and Mom skinned chickens, crushed peanuts into butter, and gave birth (quite naturally I might add) to child number four, this time to

daughter Jayne Melissa. After five years in Nigeria, the whole kit and caboodle moved back to Grand Haven for a short time where they brought home their final bundle of joy, Paul William (who, as the story goes, at one week old, was only misplaced under a pile of coats for a very short amount of time at a Christmas

gathering before someone inquired of his whereabouts). The family settled in Grandville, where Dad earned his MBA, and continued to work as an accountant, and, later as the development director for the CRC's World Missions. He has served countless, rotating stints as deacon and elder at their church, South Grandville CRC, which they've attended ever since their move to Grandville. (Though one might argue, he's asking for it by living right across the street from church.) With five kids, Christian schools, and one full-time income, the house was tight, and finances were probably tighter at times, but their home was filled with post-meal singing, music, laughter, a surprisingly low number of arguments, and lots and lots of love.

Having, of course, not been in the picture for all this time, I can only speak to certain things. But, I do know that Dad is a good chunk of my Greg (50%, some geneticists might say). Plus, you can tell a lot about a man by his children. When I

look at Kurt, Keith, Jayne, and Paul, I can see him in all of them too--not physically necessarily, Jayne is the only one who got his dark eyes and hair--but in their character. Greg recently read The Road To Character (and I myself read several pages, though ironically I reference it more than he does) and, from what I could gather from that first chapter, we used to judge people by their character instead of achievements. Dad has definitely achieved many things in his 67 years, but it's his character we respect the most.

Dad is precise. Probably a prerequisite for people who work with money, but even his notes are written legibly in all caps. He remembers details, people, numbers, and our standing monthly Costco order (he has a membership and we don't, but he insists he doesn't mind hanging out there from time to time for the free samples and cheap hot dogs).

Dad is wise. Before I married Greg, I asked him for advice on the best Roth IRA I should pour all my extra money into (you know, activity director money). He did his research and counseled me on some good options. He has always been a good person to talk to for those debating life changes or mid-life crisis-ing, because I've never seen him freak out. He offers calm, thoughtful advice and a patient ear.

Dad is brave. When I think of all the ways he, an introvert from Denver, has taken chances on moves, jobs, advancing his education, new experiences and relationships, I can see he's one of the bravest people I know. Plus, driving five kids in an old minivan over the mountains of Colorado is not for the weak of heart.

Dad is generous. He flew out to California to help Greg drive our car to Michigan during our cross-country move, he rents homes for family vacations, he sends gift certificates to family contest winners (which I've yet to win) or to Greg every time he blows out their sprinkler system, and he is the first person we go to when we need to borrow a few dollars for, say, a new roof. He loves to shop for unusual gifts for everyone for Christmas, be it fiery Hawaiian shirts, crazy caps, or DVDs of old TV shows.

Dad is kind. He is the kind of guy who can disagree with someone without making them defensive. He asks good questions and loves to hear stories about people who are driving me nuts.

Dad is patient. Mom has said how good he was with their kids when they were babies, and the majority of pictures I have of him are of him holding his grandchildren who he'd somehow gotten to stop screaming.

Dad is fun. I don't know how this got started, but he calls his grandkids "Silly Gooses" (maybe because they are!) and signs-off his FaceTime talks with his grandkids, "Monkey Monkey." He's perpetually in a scaring contest with Kate and Elia--and now the younger kids call him "Boo Budda!" (Budda is how Kate pronounced Grandpa when she was one, and it somehow stuck.) Dad loves a good Mr. Bean (if there is such a thing), and is a good sport. I mean, how many people have a picture of their dad like this one taken on just a random Saturday night? Ok, this was at our wedding shower--that's my dad holding the train.

Dad has played countless hours of Pinochle, Dirty Dog and Go Ape--and he is able to hold his concentration with or without a little Elia hanging off him.

Six years ago, while at Paul and Alli's wedding reception, Dad and I looked at each other and joked about how we were both falling apart. (I was having eye problems, had the cold of my life, and had just backed my car into a steel pole in the pouring rain, and Dad had been peeing blood for a week.) Shortly after, we found out he had kidney cancer, and had one kidney removed (I graciously offered him one of Greg's, which he declined). He started on chemo pills, radiation, and was able to keep the cancer (which had also spread to his lungs) at bay until last summer, when they found tumors on his spine. And so he continues with tests, trial drugs, and lots of waiting and unknowns.

This past Christmas "All Buddies" (that's all 5 kids) and in-laws (minus Brad, because Jayne decided to fly in last-minute) were together for a few days. It was probably then, for the first time, I felt a twinge of jealousy for having a lot of kids--how wonderful to be surrounded by one's adult children!

Mom and Dad sat down one night with the adults and asked if we had any questions about Dad's health. We did. Afterward, Mom asked that we lay hands on them and pray together. So we surrounded them with our bodies, prayers, and tears as they sat hand-in-hand on a brown leather ottoman in the middle of their living room.

Mom is one strong lady. Stronger, I always say, then even she knows. She has said over and over again that they both

marvel at the goodness of God. He can do anything, He is faithful, and He's got them in His hands. But she also says about Dad, "He's my best friend, I don't know what I'd do without him!" And they are legit best friends. Like, they touch when they sleep. They have shared countless homes in two countries, five kids, ten grandkids, and the ups and downs of over 45 years together, and are still content to just be together. Ever since I've known her, she says marriage just keeps getting better and better.

I recently watched the movie Life Itself, which tells the story of several generations of a family, and the love and tragedies that shape them. It ends with the granddaughter of the main character reading from her book saying, "No one knows where their story is going, or who the heroes in it are going to be." The movie argues that our stories go on long after we're gone, because they continue with our children and loved ones. While I don't believe we go on living forever in those who come after us, I do believe we impact the lives--in big and small ways--of those we come into contact with. Probably in ways we will never even know. But yes, Dad's story has not only impacted, but it has shaped the stories of Kurt, Greg, Keith, Jayne and Paul, who are their father in so many ways. And Dad has bits of his parents, who have bits of their parents, and well, you get the point. Which is why I think it's so important that Dad is a man of character and faith, because you can't hand down accolades and accomplishments, but you can hope to pass on patience, generosity, wisdom, kindness, and precision (though not, unfortunately, when it comes to Greg being on time).

I love my father-in-law for being the man he is. I appreciate him for the hand he's had in shaping many of my most precious people. And I recognize him as the calm, quiet hero he is, even--or maybe especially--in the face of unexpected pain.