My father’s name was Alben Berg Moan.
He was born in 1925, the fourth of five
children.
His parents were Peter and
Bertha Moan, both immigrants from Norway living in Grantsburg, Wisconsin.
The name “Alben” means “pale one” and I
wonder if he was pale at birth –later in life he was bronze-skinned, especially
in summer.
“Berg” might have come from
the Norwegian mountains or from Bergen in Norway.
He was known as “Al” by some, “Ebby” by
others.
We don’t know where the Ebby
came from, it started before Mom met him.
Dad’s dad, Grandpa Moan was tall and thick without being
fat. He had pale skin and blue
eyes—seemed very Scandanavian. But I
often wondered at how un-Scandanavian my Grandma Moan looked. She was short, under 5 feet tall, thin and
with the same concentrated, dark brown eyes as my father. Her skin was also darker with an olive tinge. Once she told me that “we are part
Gypsy.” When I asked Dad about it later
he insisted she was joking – but it somehow rang true to me. And he was her body type.
The only story my Dad told me about his childhood was that all too
often he had to go fetch his dad at the bar.
His high school year book provided some clues to teen years.
He was in Boy Scouts, basketball and
baseball.
In basketball he was “known
for his speed and a deadly shot from the outside.”
His handsome senior photo listed his
activities next to it and his senior quote,” Girls are bothersome and I like to
be bothered.” Old report cards showed passing but not stellar grades.
Another clue is the two ancient grass skirts from his time in
the army unit based in New Guinea.
He
turned 18 in 1943 during his senior year and received his draft letter,
ordering him straight into the Army after graduation.
He never spoke much about that time but a
photo shows him shirtless, with his army pants and boots on, hands on his hips,
in front of a Quonset hut.
Dad put us on skates at an early age. He was a strong ice skater. He’d played semi-professional hockey for
several years in Minnesota. That quick
action game, like basketball, suited him.
Dad met Mom at a dance hall in Wisconsin.
Mom said, “He didn’t really dance but my
friend Millie was dating his brother Gordon and I met him through them. He was
real good looking and I got hooked.
We
started dating after that.”
Her mother
loved my dad also. When they had dated awhile another guy came over, who mom
used to date.
Grandma Johnson told him
“You can quit coming around.
Dorothy has
a real good boyfriend now.”
Mom said, “We got married in April—you were at our wedding!
It all was good.
We married at the Pine
city church with my sister Betty and his brother Gordon as our
attendants.”
As a child I’d wondered why
my mom got married in a suit, while my aunt Betty had a big white wedding
dress.
Dad lived & worked in Eau
Claire, Wisconsin then and she briefly joined him there before they moved to
the Cities for a better job.
That’s
where I was born, in Minneapolis.
There are so many photos of Dad with babies. Dad loved babies. That’s one reason he had so many kids-when
one grew out of being a cute little baby, it was time for a new one! We had six in all. He loved to talk with, play with, and hold
every little baby that came his way.
Dad was a hard worker to support his family. Only a hard worker could hold 3 jobs at one
time, which he did at one stage when Mom was still home with little kids. He worked full time as a warehouse worker at
Coast-to-Coast stores. It was very
physical work and kept him lean and strong.
He was there over 20 years until Coast –to –Coast was bought out and
then, eventually the warehouse was closed.
His part time work was cleaning office, in the evening after working at
the warehouse all day.
I remember Dad going fishing.
At different times he had a small fishing boat.
That unique smell and slippery feel of newly,
caught fish stays with me.
Dad would
fillet them on an old board, and I can still hear the sound of him scraping off
the scales with his knife.
That fish
would taste better because he had caught it himself.
Once, when I was about 5 years old, I was sitting on my Dad’s
lap, and he rubbed his stubbly, morning beard on my face. He said, “Someday your boyfriend will do that
to you.”
Dad loved to work outside in the yard. When we moved into our family home in 1959 he
planted seeds rather than sod in our yard.
It took some nurturing and time, but that grass was so thick and so soft
to walk in barefoot. Weeds couldn’t grow
in it, it was so thick.
Dad was not a big reader, although he usually read the
newspaper until his eyesight gave out.
He’d call me a “bookworm’, “always having my nose in a book.” We were different that way.
Dad and I argued a lot when I was a teen. Before that age, his temper and propensity to
spank kept me in check. As I got older I knew that he was unlikely to hit me as
a teenaged girl. I was a good girl
myself and didn’t get into trouble in what I did. But we often fought over his comments about
“those jews and niggers” or his stern treatment of my brothers, who just wanted
to grow their hair out like all the other boys.
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| 50th wedding anniversary |
Dad was goofy sometime—he liked to joke and tickle. I remember seeing him tickling Mom and her
laughing until it was too much. He did
silly things sometimes, like tell us to pull his finger and then fart when we
did.
Dad’s memory was always different. He often repeated things. The one time during my college years that I
was high on marijuana and in his presence, it seemed like his way of talking
was perfect for when I was stoned. Maybe he had some brain damage from earlier
in his life. But then his memory got
worse. Dad was diagnosed with
Alzheimers.
His last few years, Dad lost not only his memory but his
fiery anger, his sparkle, and his eye sight.
He didn’t know me but whenever he heard my voice on the phone he would
start to cry. When I was in Minnesota
for my summer visit he told me how hard his life was, and cry.
After a few years, he couldn’t care for himself any more,
would wander when unsupervised, and he didn’t remember who even my mother
was. Finally, to save Mom from the
stress, he had to be put in a nursing home.
After over 50 years together this was a hard decision for her. She went to the nursing home to feed him his
lunch most days, often bringing him ice cream, which he continued to love to
the end.
The last time I saw Dad alive, I went with Mom to the nursing
home. He was only about 90 pounds, his
muscle all gone, leaving just his skin hanging on his bones. After Mom fed him lunch, I wanted to connect
with him somehow. He had complained about tightness in his neck and throat so I
asked “Would you like a neck and shoulder massage?” He agreed.
As I gently rubbed his now frail body he relaxed some and said, “That
feels good.” We helped him shuffle back
to his room to rest. After we got him
situated in his bed and he closed his eyes to sleep, I kissed my Dad goodbye on
his stubbly cheek.
The day he died, the nursing home called my Mom to say that
he was slipping away. The family went to
his side. When every one else had left,
my sister Cindy lingered behind. She
told him,”It’s OK to leave Dad- We’ll take care of Mom. You can rest now.” A couple of hours later he finally let go of
his depleted body.
When I got the call that he had died I was so sad that I
couldn’t have been there with him. Two
days later though I had a vision of him—he looked strong and vital again, he
was smiling and I knew he was sending me a clue from heaven that he was happy.
Previously published in When I was Terry by Terra Rafael
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He husbands me.
