In Loving Memory of Sijmen Bergakker The happy memories about my father are plentiful, for he was a family man above all else. For instance he loved to eat and prepare food: specially marinated meat for the barbeque, his unique recipe of home made hot sauce (sambal), his self made french fries rolled up in a clean dish towel ready to be fried to a crisp, his crispy fried fish cut beforehand in slices (botervis) and frozen in for a later date, his self roasted peanuts fresh out of the oven and later eaten from a newspaper on our laps, his pound of half and half minced meat mixed with an entire box of breadcrumbs to make the pound of meat go farther and the balls as hard as rocks; which grew to be a favorite family joke. Another hobby of his was attending to our yard and his vegetable garden. He always had one, no matter where we lived. He was proud to be a farmer's son and could be found weeding his green thumbs-patch, mowing the lawn, attending the many fruit trees, digging trenches, making or repairing fences, building shelters for the chickens, ducks, goats, dogs, etc.. Yes, he loved animals too. Especially dogs. He'd take them with him in his pickup truck as often as he could and to the vet's for one reason or another. I remember those trips with relish, sitting in the back along side of and holding onto our dog, feeling the wind blow through my hair and watching the houses and people flash by while the dog's tongue would hang out of the corner of it's mouth and wink against the wind's intensity. Another family custom was the sunday drive right after the siesta. We kids would load into the car and my father would just drive any old route for an hour or so while my mom handed us a piece of candy now and then. No matter how old I got before leaving our home, I loved going along on those Sunday afternoon rides. Initially he had wanted to become a doctor. His parents could not afford to send him to the proper schools to become one. Instead he joined the marines and became a pilot. A bush pilot as well as a commercial planes pilot. He piloted aircrafts like the Tigermoth, Cessna, Learjet, Saab, DC-8 and many more. It was his profession for over 35 years. Still, the medical world kept him captivated and he would read an occasional medical encyclopedia volume, or medical romance novel, or article in some magazine and he loved to watch a series on t.v. called The Flying Doctors. Dad was partial to documentaries about the animal world and science and astronautical topics. I remember how he's also receive his monthly subscription of Popular Mechanics, Science Digest or Readers Digest and in Reader's Digest look up the page with the "How to improve your vocabulary" words. He'd memorize them and try using them in sentences and then glow with the pride of his achievement. My father loved children. He was strict but honest. And very dependable. And strong as a bear... When his grandchildren visited him, he'd beam with pleasure and play games with them, talk with them, teach them things and be genuinely interested in their achievements and endless chatter. They in turn loved going to visit him. When they were very small he'd get down on the floor, lay flat on his belly and play with them at their level. I think he loved them best at that stage. How his face could glow and his laughter bounce off the walls when they'd pull themselves up on him or take their first wobbly steps or crawl around on the floor with him. My father smelled of baby powder. Johnson's baby powder to be exact, instead of deodorant against perspiration. It was so very typical of him. Everyday after his showers he'd lather himself with the stuff, covering the bathroom floor with a thin film of the powder's residue. Since it was usually a tropical place we'd live in, he'd then walk around inside the house wearing only his white underwear looking like one giant baby! He was a man of principles. Get up early, be clean, look neat, work hard, keep your promises, be there for his family even at the expense of not making promotion onto larger aircrafts which would've taken him to far away places and seperated him from us for long periods of time. He chose staying close to home, time and time again. He was a rock. Security above all else. Without it he was terrified for his family's well being. His one true fear was to not be able to provide for us. My father loved being surrounded by friends and relatives. Parties on weekends were normal. Colleagues and friends knew their way to our home blindly. As a child I'd hear many a story that way, told in the company of assembled grown ups. There were also times he'd retire to a quiet dark place in our home to be by himself and meditate for 20 minutes or longer. He believed in the supernatural or paranormal and the unattainable becoming reality someday. In his younger adult years he loved wood carving, playing pool, floating on his back in the water at the beach or in a swimming pool, drinking beer and smoking. He was a strong willed man and once he'd put his mind to it, he stopped drinking and smoking altoghether from one day to the next, never to succumb to its temptation again. I'm not saying my father was a saint. He wasn't. But that is irrelevant to what he stood for in the long run: the love, safety and stability he provided his wife-of-40-odd-years and 4 children with. Five years. A wink of an eye. No amount of time will ever erase the loving memory of my father. He loved each and every one of his children and they in turn loved him back dearly in their own seperate ways! From here you are welcome to continue on to my own little collection of favorite typically daddy pictures or return to my index page. His Death Heavenly Dream Papa's Death Accepted |