Father

Of all the venerated names attributable to our perfect Creator, He asks us to address Him simply as Father.  That we otherwise weak and debased men might then emulate and better identify with Him in whose image we are, He succors us to follow His example and apply the same honored title to ourselves and our progenitors.  We would do well to esteem and merit such distinction by keeping His commandments and modeling His love to our own posterity, while honoring our own mortal Fathers' aspirations to do so.

Although my father passed many years ago, I want to take this opportunity to remember and honor him for the fine example he was to me of hard work, general goodness, and paternal responsibility.  I shall ever be grateful for the influence of his example, which I continually strive to emulate.  I tell myself that if I can become as devoted, honest, and dependable as he was, I might then consider my test passed and my earth  life successful.

Born in 1901 to John and Mae Belle Fisher Croshaw, George Vernal Croshaw was the 2nd born, and oldest son of twelve children.  He was raised on a dry farm in Oxford, Idaho prior to automation, and even before electricity was commonly available.  Thus he learned a work ethic that would define the rest of his life.  He really never stopped working until the last two years of his life when he became disabled by illness.  Although I yet remain somewhat resistant to the concept, he taught me this work ethic.  Whether it was harrowing the large family garden and burying leaves and old corn stalks, one shovel-full at a time, or straitening bent nails, or dismantling old cars, reroofing the house, or pouring a new driveway (manual crank cement mixer,) my summers were kept busy, with many a laborious project.

After completing the standard eighth-grade educa-tion he continued to work the family farm until age 28, when he fell for Arvilla Poole six years his junior, a pretty, young "school marm"  from Whitney who had taken a teaching assignment in the Oxford.  They were married in June of 1929 in the Logan, Utah temple.  They moved to the boom town of Pocatello to work for Union Pacific Railroad.  They wanted very much to have children, but it would be another 11 years, subsequent to much prayer and fasting, before Verna Lee would be born.  She of course, was then spoiled rotten, but she has recovered.  Amid occasional miscarriages, and while weathering the depression, they continued their family quest, the rest of us coming at a relatively quicker clip, Mary Lou, Arva Lynn, George V. Jr., and finally me.



Here we are (mom was photographer,) sometime around 1951, sitting on the back porch of the unfinished second home Dad would build for the growing family on 230 Park Ave. in Pocatello.  Therein, he demon- strated his perfectionist trait which was often at odds with his frugality trait.  Funds being short, he harked back to his farm-boy days of getting by on very little, scavenging used building materials from the railroad scrap yard or wherever (see "straitening nails" comment above.)  When it was time to install however, there was no room for mediocrity.  Everything had to be done right, true and square.  He also had a flair for design, well ahead of his time and the outcome was a very comfortable home, valued well beyond his earnings.  I like to claim this as the source of my perfectionist trait, as I watched it happen and lived for many years in the finished product, often discovering some new marvel of engineering or design.  It seems I recall carrying bricks (see pile off Mary Lou's elbow) for this home, but judging from my bantam stature in this photo, I now wonder about that.  Although, completing this home took several years while Dad worked full-time on the Railroad, so maybe I'm not crazy.

Childhood in those times was carefree.  Liberty to play and roam at will was the norm for us.  Of course, as a child I was not fully aware of difficulties, but having observed as an adult, the downward societal trends over the past 30-40 years, I now believe the period of my childhood was the best of times. In this scene, George and I try out the float that our dad helped us build for the Childrens' Pioneer parade.  In those times, there were few distractions from meaningful family inter- action.  They worked very hard, but our parents assured that we were cohesive and truly happy.  I believe that regardless of societal limitations, parents of any period can do the same by keeping their eye on the goal and policing the distractions.  Debby and I certainly tried to achieve this in our family, and I see similar efforts and results in the next generation of our grandchildren.  They are truly happy, for which I am truly grateful to their parents for catching that vision.

Move forward to Thanksgiving Day, about 1966, when all the sibs were married except George, then in college at BYU, and me, then a junior at HHS.  These gatherings were difficult for some as they lived sub- stantial distances away.  But, Mom and Dad consistently maintained the vision of family cohesiveness, preparing and beautifying their home, and hosting grand feasts that would attract us back year after year.  It was around this time that Dad retired from the railroad after approxi-mately 37 years of service.  Still in good health, he immediately started into a home remodel- ing and repair business, wherein I was his right hand man, again having opportunity to gain an appreciation for detail.




I believe this photo was taken between '67-'68, during my senior year in high school.  I very much looked forward to these gatherings, since the house could get pretty quite the rest of the year with just them and me.  They were in their mid-late 60's at this point in time, and I was pretty sure there was a generation gap between us.  I wasn't sure they understood me entirely, and regrettably, I was too cool to be in tune with their concerns.  I now however, see reality, that they did understand my need 

for relative independence and individuality, as they gave me space, tolerating with a smile, some pretty crazy antics from my friends and me.  The whole time however, they maintained high expectations of my moral character.  That carried me through and made it possible for me to move on into adulthood, via a church mission.  In 1969, amid the craziness of the world at that time, following the example of my older brother, I chose to serve a 2 year mission for the Church, and was called to South Korea.  I knew Mom and Dad were pleased with that decision.  They supported me fully, financially as well as morally.  I received weekly letters from them, even when I didn't reciprocate.  From this photo, one can sense their true anticipation and pleasure at hearing my voice on one of the few occasions I could phone home.

On my return from Korea, a happy reunion ensued.   They were quite good sports about donning the Korean honbokes (traditional dress) I brought home as gifts for them.  The missionary experience was profound, as I had witness changes occur in peoples' lives.  It prepared me for rigors of the life ahead by giving me faith.  Of course, Mom and Dad knew it would be that way, which was why they had wanted me to go.

Of course, the reunion extended to the rest of the family who all met at Verna Lee's home.  They came because by example, they had all caught the vision of family cohesiveness.  Family matters.  We provide support, moral or otherwise as needed, because we are each important to one another, now, and in eternity.  I knew I was important to these people because they came to see me, to hear of my experiences, and to and wish me well.  This is what our mother and our father, in their parental wisdom had ingrained in us.  I have seen this important vision pass on to each of my siblings' immediate families, and I am now witnessing its passing to the next generation.  Of course this requires work, but it is now and will continue to be profoundly rewarding.

Following my mission, I returned to school at Idaho State University, living back home with Mom and Dad for the first year.  On a weekly basis, I observed their dedicated treks to and from Idaho Falls to serve as temple ordinance workers, a calling they had fulfilled throughout the duration of my mission.  About two years after my return, Debby and I were married in the Logan Temple.  That courtship is a story for a different post, but I mention it here again highlight the support we both felt from our parents and our siblings.  

At this point, Mom and Dad were freed up to do something they had planned for many years.  In his youth, my father had been unable to serve a mission for the Church because of a serious leg injury, and the state of WWII.  It had been his great desire all the years since, to so serve, and Mom of course, was always ready to go.  Because of family responsibilities, including supporting the missions of both sons, and the weddings of their daughters, this goal was put off  until I had finally left the nest.  They received a call to serve in the Canada Alberta mission.  It was so gratifying to watch them prepare.  They were almost gleeful.  Then to observe their total dedication in difficult surroundings was faith promoting.  It exempli-fied who they had always been.

Just as children had changed their lives in the earlier years, grandchildren had a fulfilling effect.  Here they dote over two of the earliest, Julie and Doug Sutton, Mary Lou's oldest.  They were so pleased to be grandparents.  Dad would play with them and teach them at the same time.  Among the kids' favorite tricks was a maeuver where Grandpa would grab them by the waist and throw them backwards and up onto his shoulder, at which time they would giggle uncontrollably.  This would carry on through the generations of grand- kids from each family.

Even those of my kids who remember him, remember this activity, even into his old age.  He knew of their vitality and of their importance in eternity to him as well as to their own pending posterity.  As a Latter-day Saint, and as a temple worker, he knew the intricacies of the eternal plan of salvation, and the importance of the family organization therein.  This was the most important aspect of their mortal existence, i.e. to qualify themselves and their family for eternal life.

In the later years, due to disabling chest and shoulder pain from cancer, Dad would sit persistently in this chair, not able to move around much.  Yet, he would still don his white shirt and tie, and attend church whenever possible, and he could still not resist holding his grandchildren, who have told me they remember feeling his arms around them.

Over the past two years of his life, cancer sapped Dad's energy.  Although he aged rapidly, he maintained coherence.  The kids of course still loved him and he loved them.  Here, the Suttons and Croshaws were enjoying a get-together.  Dad passed not long after this, graduating with honors to the next level of progression.  I wish that my youngest children had known him.  I hope this post will help them to do so.  My father was among the best of men to walk the earth.  I consider it an honor and a blessing to have been his son. I am confident he will be among the most valiant in the World of Spirits and beyond where he and Mom teach and serve as they await us.  Thank you all for your attention to this tribute.