Karen Wils photo A young Jim Rose with a nice catch of fish.

ESCANABA — Brave, that’s the only word to describe my Dad!

The baby always sat next to Dad at our supper table. For many years, there was a toddler in training at the Rose residents. (There are six of us siblings.)

Dad shared his end of the kitchen table with a high chair (with no tray) pulled up next to him. It was his job to see that little Mike, Dave or Lori ate their meal more than played with it.

Courageous Dad was in constant danger of spills, spit or unwanted peas.

Spot, the family dog, camped out right underneath the highchair. He was Dad’s right hand man — I mean dog — ready to gobble up any food that hit the floor.

Mealtime was a special, when I was growing up. We ate at 5 o’clock sharp, two hours after Dad got home from working his shift at Harnischfeger.

Mom’s homemade food filled the kitchen with an enticing aroma. Everybody had a healthy appetite. Everyone was expected to present themselves at the table with clean hands and face and maybe a fresh shirt if they had been working outside.

Mom started the food at Dad’s end of the table. He helped the youngest one next to him, took his own food and passed it on.

My siblings and I often retell the story of a time when my cute, little brother Dave was in the highchair and Mom made homemade soup. Davey was just mastering the art of using a spoon. The sleeves of his flannel shirt were in the way, so Dad rolled up his sleeves to his elbow.

“Just like a big man now,” Dad said as he held up the youngsters arms. David smiled beaming at all of his older brothers around the table. Dad let go of his arm when he wasn’t paying attention. Splash went Dave little hand right down into his soup bowl. The broth flew all over the table and Dad.

“Just like a big man,” all of us mocked.

My brother Mike was the messiest, always dropping food on his lap or floor. Dad said Mike needed remedial eating not remedial reading practice. (Mike programs computers now, but still misses his mouth sometimes.)

My Dad’s bravery went way beyond the kitchen table too. When he married Mom she had a half-a-dozen younger brothers and sisters living with her that she was rearing after her folks died. The ready-made family and the big old boarding house didn’t scare him.

My Brother Jim’s rock and roll music and my sister Lori’s temper tantrums (she’s hold her breath) did not even phase him.

He bravely sat through hundreds of school programs even when the fish were biting. (Grandkid programs, too.)

Dad was the parent who calmly sat in the passenger’s side of the car when his teen-aged offspring took the wheel for first time. Brave man!

My dad was game to take on all sorts of jobs. He knew how to make work fun even for us kids. When he’d come home with a truck load of firewood, even the cousins and neighbor kids would come running wanting to help. Dad would praise them and tell them how strong their muscles were as we handed the wood piece by piece to the pile.

Mom took only three kinds of photos of Dad over the fifty plus years that they were married, Dad with trout, Dad with deer and Dad with kids on his lap. And the kids, grandkids and great-grandkid pictures outnumber the other two.

Dad’s bravery proved his love for us, and I’d like to wish him and all of the other brave dads out there a happy Father’s Day.

No, my Dad was never afraid of snakes, bats or spiders, maybe just one thing… Mom after we’d come home from camp an hour or more later than we said we would!

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Karen (Rose) Wils is a lifelong north Escanaba resident. Her folksy columns appear weekly in Lifestyles. Today’s piece is a tribute to Wils’ father, who died during the peak of the COVID-19 pandemic.