A Tribute To My Dad - Kenneth Hayden

My dad, Kenneth Hayden, was a good man. It is difficult for me to do a tribute to him, because I feel I barely knew him. He died just after I turned ten, when he was only forty-four years old. I knew him through a child's mind and heart, but my actual memories are few and vague. Best and perhaps most important of all, I know he loved me. I deeply trust that deep inside, and it is quite settling for my life. 

My dad met my mom at a church convention and they married in 1942. Then he was off to war. He served in the Navy during World War II, and then attended college and seminary in Des Moines, Iowa. We lived in a couple small towns in Iowa, where dad served in two small churches. Then in 1958, we moved to Illiopolis, Illinois. Dad had been born in Peoria, Illinois, and so was familiar with the state and had family not too far away. Very soon after, he discovered he had cancer, which spread throughout his body in spite of much treatment over a period of three and a half years. He died in 1962. 

Dad was a man of faith, coming from a family steeped in the Christian tradition. A number of my ancestors helped in the establishment of the American-born denomination of the Christian Church, Disciples of Christ churches in the early 1800s, working alongside Alexander Campbell and Barton Stone. It was part of the pioneering and spiritual revival after the establishment of the United States as a country just a few decades earlier. Settlers moved west across the country, and aspired to bring their faith with them, but without the formal attachments of higher church forms, rules, and rituals. There were some dozen or more ministers among the Hayden family. 

Dad loved our country, and I do remember that he cried whenever the national anthem was played. Tears would well up in his eyes as he placed his hand over his heart, acknowledging his love and allegiance to this great country. 

My dad also loved God, and accordingly also loved the Church, the Body of Christ, the believers who make up the family of God. He was much beloved by those he served and worked with in the few churches he served as a minister. Through the years, I have often heard how much people loved and adored my dad. 

My mom used to say I was just like my dad - so maybe in some ways I might “know” him better than I realize. I am him - or am I? I find it hard to imagine that my dad could possibly be much like me, or me like him. But maybe so. Somehow, I got a love for reading, and fishing, and music, and even hot, spicy food - from somewhere. And devotion to family. And love for God our heavenly Father. 

I occasionally wish I could have known dad longer in my life. I don't remember having deep or anguishing regrets that he died so young, or that I didn't get to know or be with him anymore. I do believe he and mom had prepared us three kids for the prospect that he would be gone, and how we would deal with it as best we could. But I still occasionally shed some tears or have some thoughts about missing my dad. I think I got that from my dad, as well - the sensitive emotions that allow for tears at tender times. 

In the spring of 1962, at age 9 and during the Easter season at church, I made the decision to be baptized in our church and faith. During the ceremony, my dad was doing the readings from the Bible, as another pastor - Bill Hall (Gene Hall's brother), performed the actual baptizing in the baptismal tank. As it came time for me to be immersed in the water, my dad came to the Scripture verse, “…and this is my beloved Son, in whom I am well pleased…” There was not a dry eye in the place, or so I was told. It was a significant step in this life of faith that has truly been my life all these 73-plus years. God is good!

In 2011, a former member of the Illiopolis Christian Church, Betty Stelzriede McLean, shared the following with me via the Internet on our business website. What an incredible statement, of how a life was touched almost fifty years earlier. 

I took care of your father Rev. Hayden at DMH (Decatur Memorial Hospital) many years ago. I was also a member of the Illiopolis Christian Church, baptized in 1949. Your father taught me not to be afraid of dying and just wanted you to know how much he has helped me in my life, by just knowing him in the hospital. God Bless you and your family. Glad to see you are doing so well. I live in Florida now.

From my mom's recollections, my dad was stubborn. So I guess I just maybe got at least a little of that from him. They had a saying together, “Just paint it blue.” The story was that if dad said the ceiling was blue in a certain room, it would have been easier to paint it blue than to convince him that it was not blue! Stubbornness can be a difficult thing to deal with, but it can also be an important part of sticking with something, being faithful and committed to a thought, an action, a belief, or even a person, as in marriage. 

What would dad and I have shared? What would we have argued about? Theology and Bible interpretation, I suspect. Maybe politics. Perhaps even what color the ceiling really is…

Life is truly amazing, and it seems to get more amazing to me the longer I am blessed with living it! I thank God for my dad and mom, for all they did for me and our family. We don't likely remember specifically what we had to eat during the first ten years of our lives, but it nourished us and contributed to our lives, despite our lack of specific memories. I trust this is similar to the words, the hugs, the comfort, the little gifts, and even the corrections or swats we might have experienced. Though lost in the fog of forgetting, dad's love and care helped make me who I am today. 

I do remember, however vaguely, when we went to bed at night, we kids would say, “I love you and like you,” to mom and dad, and they would echo it back to us. 

“I love you and like you!”