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A potpourri of stories about various family members or events
A Kick in the Rear
Sometime in the late spring or early summer of 1963, a large excavator started working on digging a hole so that building contractors could start building a basement foundation for a new house for us. Read Life in Our Trailer Home to see how things were before this new house was completed.
Excavator (digging in Rotterdam) found on https://commons.wikimedia.org/
I don't recall the exact sequence, but I am guessing that the excavator dug most of the hole for the basement and foundation and then came back to finish (either the next day or later in the day). I heard the machine starting up (from the trailer 150 yards away), and I ran over to watch. I got really close to the edge of the hole and got on my haunches to watch. What boy doesn't want to watch a big machine digging a big hole! Next thing I knew, I heard my father yelling at me, picking me up, and then kicking me in my rear to get me out of the area. It all happened so fast.
I can completely understand my father's interest in keeping me safe from falling into the hole in case the operator of the excavator didn't see me fall. I am thankful for that. Even if the machine was not running, I could have possibly been hurt just falling into the hole.
I remember feeling pain after being kicked by my dad. But the pain was more of an emotional pain than a physical one. Why couldn't he have picked me up, hugged me, and told me that he didn't want me to fall into the hole? I remember thinking about this sometimes as I grew up. I didn't dwell on it, and it didn't hinder me, but it was just an ongoing, agonizing pain. I remember as a kid telling myself that I would NEVER kick a child of mine. I never talked to anyone about this to anyone for many years. My dad never broached the subject either. This was not festering in the shadows of my mind, such that I thought of it all the time, but it was a memory that didn't leave. I also did not let it block my relationship with my dad.
About 28 years later, we bought our current house in Pella. Within the first year (or so) here, one day, Tim, Carrie, and I were in the backyard. I don't recall what we were each doing, but I noticed Tim doing something mean to his sister. Before I knew it, I came over to him and kicked him in his rear. It all happened so fast.
Immediately after kicking Tim, the imagery of my father kicking me came to my mind. I went to Tim right away, hugged him tightly, and profusely apologized. Why didn't I hug him first and talk to him, instead of kicking him? I later told him my experience that I shared above, and I again apologized for letting that happen. I felt more pain for my action against Tim than I had felt from what my dad had done to me, since I had committed to never doing this. On my own, I prayed that the chain would stop there!
Published 2026-02-21.
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