A celebration of a quiet hero
It is my husband's birthday, May 22. He won't like that I'm writing him a tribute. But he will — if you get my meaning. He's not a person who seeks to shine. I'd say he's someone who seeks to endure.
He had a rough start — born with spina bifida and clubfoot. He began his life with surgeries — lived perfectly healthy years — and is now closing out life with surgeries. Many are related to spine breakdown. He's been on Canadian crutches for about the last ten years.
Anyone not needing crutches just needs to borrow a pair — and try grabbing for those anytime you need to stand up or walk. You find out real quick it's a different life. Terry has managed it with a spirit that — while having its fits of frustration — remains cheerful, and finds a way to get things done.
He had to sell his Harley. And if a friend would not have gone to some extra effort, he wouldn't be hunting, either. Being unable to launch the boat alone, his fishing has been reduced. Hiking is out. But he can climb on a four-wheeler.
Terry is not one to sit around. He rigged up ways to tinker with things in the garage — the place he began, working alongside his dad. Gifted with mechanical know-how, he's done a lot of good for a lot of people. His plan, when we moved back to our home area of Priest River, had been to start a Do-It-Yourself program for teens — and teach them a variety of practical fix-it skills. All I can say is they missed out. He is a great teacher.
He and I met in the old high school here in town — in geometry class. He the Catholic boy, and I, the Protestant pastor's daughter. He didn't want the door closed when the class was going wild with our teacher out of the room — said it might look “suspicuous.” He isn't a wordsmith — hasn't the love of words I do. Then again, every year he was re-explaining to me how the gears on my bike worked. We've made up for each other's lack.
He's probably the only company manager who mooned the break room when he retired. Sure couldn't do that now, or he'd fall flat on his face. He got to live his Alaska dream. He's been the kind of husband and dad who would try to make it happen, if the kids or I really wanted or needed anything.
Who comes home from work at 2 a.m. Thanksgiving Day, and wakes up the teens who want to help him make middle-of-the-night stuffing. Who shops around town for his daughter when she requests “boob tape” so she can fit her prom dress. Who trekked to the police station to rescue his teen son, when he had one too many parking fines. And who took his work vacation to stay with four preschoolers, so I could make a family roots trip to Norway with my mom.
To say this man — who seeks to endure — and remain upbeat while doing so — has been, and is, a rock to his family — is to say we'll always need him. Sometimes he doesn't think he's much good anymore. Not so, Terry Knapp. You're better than ever.