Sunday, July 15, 2012

The Few, the Proud, My Dad


I meant to do this post on Father's Day, but any day is a good day to celebrate your Dad, right?  For years, I've been nagging my Dad to write his life history and since he has yet to do so, I would like to give a brief sketch of the life and times of Steven William Rawson.  If you really know my Dad, then you know that he absolutely hates being the center of attention, but I know of no one more deserving of the spotlight than he.  He's the type of guy you'd want as a leader of our country, but has never had any intention of running for public office because it's all too "political."  It's a shame our current political system deters the good ones.  

Let's start at the beginning.

My grandmother described Dad as "a beautiful baby, having very even features."  She said that "his personality showed up at a very early age.  He is physical, competitive, eyes with a devilish twinkle and a deep dimple in one cheek.  He is an extrovert, friendly but selective in his friendships.  He has a confident manner and is essentially happy but inclined to moodiness at times.  He is very capable and successful at anything he sincerely wants to achieve.  He is intelligent and has a remarkable ability to retain things he learns.  It is important to him that he be the best in what he sets out to accomplish."  Boy, did she hit the nail on the head!  


As the middle child, he was the only "baldy" of the three which  I think is pretty fitting, considering I've only ever know him hairless (which I think gives him a certain tough guy coolness, like Bruce Willis.)  As a boy, he lived in California and Hawaii, was a Boy Scout and played every sport imaginable.  He has always been very physical.  But from what I've observed, while a talented athlete, he has always preferred being physically active for the fun of it rather than for awards and acclamations.  


Did you know that he was a yell leader (not to be mistaken for cheer leader) for BYU and would walk around Lavell Edwards stadium track on his hands when they'd score a touchdown?  Do you know anyone who can do that?  He was quite the gymnast: a gene I did NOT inherit.  You can make fun of him for this, or just realize that he is also a trained killer.  



Did you know that as a missionary in the West Central States Mission (Montana, Wyoming, Idaho), my Dad was called to learn the guitar and serve in a group called The Elder Generation to spread the gospel through music?  They played the popular music of the time and closed every set with the most beautiful version of Come, Come Ye Saints you've ever heard.  They were very successful, despite a very rigorous schedule with no diversion days.  He fell in love with that part of the country and still visits the area nearly every year to fly-fish.  

He and my mom met at BYU.  My mom had been dating three guys at the same time when she decided she would call each of them up and break things off because she wanted to focus on school. My dad had the only classy response of the three, telling her he understood completely and asking her if it would be alright if he checked on her now and then.  She whined to her roommates that "Steve Rawson was really nice" and secretly wondered if she had made a mistake.  One night, when my mom was having a dinner with a very unassuming young suitor, my dad showed up on the porch, told the guy "I'm here to see Penny" and has never left her side since.  When my mom told him "I've never seen a marriage I'd like to emulate...", he told her "we'll make one."  




They were married on April Fool's Day in 1971 in the Salt Lake City Temple, one of two couples to be married there that day (and they say Mormon's aren't superstitious...)  My parents have been married 41 years.  They are best friends.  You tell me who's the fool.  


My Dad had a very successful 31-year career as a fighter pilot in the Marine Corps.  He mostly flew the F-18 and F-5 and has been written up in a few "If I told you, I'd have to kill you" books.  (Yes, he was that good.)  He graduated from Top Gun (the school, not the movie) and earned his call sign, "Hammer," by beating his instructor in flight training drills.  He would often be deployed for long periods of time, leaving my mom alone to care for my two older brothers and eventually, me.  Homecomings were always very special occasions.  


One of the reasons I have implored my Dad to write his history is so that his many Marine Corps stories are documented.  There are SO many good ones!  He can tell them so much better than I can.  Below, he is with his squadron on the set of The Great Santini with Robert Duvall on the bottom right.  Both my mom and dad were extras in the movie.  That's right, they're famous.  






When we lived in Stuttgart, Germany, Dad worked at the U.S. European Command Headquarters, determining Marine Corps policy for West Africa.  He has so many interesting stories of his travels in the region but has no desire to return...ever.  He remembers being new on the job and someone of rank asking him what he thought about so-and-so region and my Dad giving his opinions and recommendations.  A few days later, my Dad saw what he had told the guy written up as official policy on Africa for the U.S. Department of Defense and in one case the Department of State.  Yikes!  Good thing he knows what he's talking about.  After his assignment in Germany, he worked as part of the Joint Chiefs of Staff at the Pentagon for several years and retired soon after because "flying the desk" was not for him.  







Did you know that he is a cancer survivor?  He probably wouldn't like it if I put this bit in, but it must be said that the man is a true warrior.  During the whole ordeal, none of us uttered the "C" word.  He just referred to his situation as needing to get some repairs done.  When we found out, we knew that my Dad didn't have cancer, but that cancer had to deal with my Dad.  And it lost.  Big time.  Don't mess with The Colonel.  I have to say, though, that the thought of my Dad in trouble was the second scariest thing I've ever dealt with next to my second son's difficult birth.  


The list of my dad's many talents goes on forever.  My Grandma was right.  He is successful at literally everything he sets out to accomplish.  One of his favorite quotes is by Henry David Thoreau; "If one advances confidently in the direction of his dreams and endeavors to live the life he has imagined, he will meet with success unexpected in common hours."  He is an accomplished musician (guitar and voice), photographer, writer (he is partially credited for my senior thesis), carpenter, fly-fisherman, skier, golfer, landscaper, artist (you should see his pencil sketches), chef and road-biker.  He has poured himself into each one of these interests and has strived to perfect each.  He is a trained killer, but equally a peacemaker.  He has run intervention on nearly every family conflict I've ever been a part of and calmed the stormy seas.  In life, he taught us to stand up for what is right and just, to keep all of our doors open (aka The Open-Door Speech) and always encouraged rather than pressured, something I always appreciated as a self-inflicted over-achiever.  More important than what he has said, he is an example of the kind of person we want to be. 




He has a deep testimony of the gospel of Jesus Christ and loves his country.  Perhaps more important than anything else though, he loves his family.  He is the best Dad/Papa around.  He is a modern day renaissance man, my hero and one of my best friends.  But don't tell Liam, because he would say, "No, he's not YOUR best friend, Papa is MY best friend," which would also be true.  

Happy (late) Father's Day, Dad!  I love you.  


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