Happy Father's Day Daddy

Since today is Father's Day and I won't be on line much this coming week due to my move, I thought I write about my dad and the Ontiveros family, of which I don't talk too much about.  Those who know me know I resonate more with the British side of my DNA.  But the Ontiveros family has a rich heritage and that heritage is what made my Dad who he was.

Daddy grew up on a ranch in the Tepusquet hills surrounding Santa Maria.  His father had decided he wanted to be a rancher and had inherited some land the family had been granted by the Spanish government.  The Ontiveros family was a founding family in California, coming up by horse back from Mexico in 1781.  Juan Pacifico Ontiveros, my 3rd great grandfather, was granted Rancho San Juan Cajon de Santa Ana and later bought Rancho Tepusquet in Santa Barbara and San Luis Obispo counties.  That land was parceled off to various family members and my grandfather, Kencho Ontiveros was granted several acres to do with what he pleased. 

Kencho married my grandmother Lee Lancaster on February 7, 1914 in San Franciso.  He brought his beautiful bride to Santa Maria, built a home for her and there they lived until that house burned down when Dad was maybe ten.  Two children were raised on that land, my Aunt Eleanore and my daddy Richard or Dick as he preferred to be called. 

The Depression hit the family hard.  Dad always said that his father would give away extra food and supplies to neighboring families who were not quite as fortunate.  The Ontiveros family however, did without quite a bit.  One story was Grandma would buy a Snickers bar and cut it into four pieces, that was the Saturday night treat.  Among other crops, Grandpa raised what are known as Santa Maria Pink Beans.  They were best picked when the morning air was still cool and damp.  The family of four would be out in the fields picking those beans at 3am, before the actual farming day would begin or in the case of the children, school day.  Those 3 am bean picking mornings are what instilled in Dad, his tremendous work ethic and sense of responsibility.

After the fire, Dad and Grandpa rebuilt that house.  I saw it one time, it was small, running water with indoor plumbing and it had electricity.  Dad always said the he helped install the wiring in that house, he was about twelve.  He worked as one my grandfather's field hands during the summer.  The last week of summer, before the harvest and school starting, is when Dad got time off.  He worked hard all summer long, that's for sure.

Sunday morning December 7, 1941 was the day that lived in infamy.  Dad was attending Santa Maria Junior College at the time, with aspirations of being a woodworking/shop teacher and attending Ohio State.  When Pearl Harbor was bombed, Dad joined the navy and for the next 4 years, he was on various ships in the Pacific.  Those years, he always claimed, were the best of his life.  He grew up, left the ranch as a boy and returned in 1945 as a man.  Dad never did attend college, he took care of his parents after the war.

My parents married in 1949.  I was born in 1955 and my sister in 1958.  We witnessed a traditional marriage between two people who loved and were devoted to each other.  They were our role models, our security and the two best people we would ever know.  We saw Daddy going to work every morning, come home every night and love our mother and us with undying devotion.  Daddy devoted the sixty four years of marriage to making our mother happy and comfortable and to us he gave us his love.

Daddy's been gone 8 years this July.  I miss him every, single day.  Not a day goes by where I don't say; "Dad, you wouldn't believe it!"  Mom died two years after him and I know in my heart of hearts, they are together laughing, sharing a cocktail and loving each other. 

So dear Daddy, happy Father's Day.  I love you and miss you.  I hope I've made you proud.