It’s going on two years since my dad died, and hardly a day goes by that I don’t think of him in some small way. His words and wisdom are so intricately woven into me; I realize that more now than when he was still alive.

Once you first lose someone so dear, the grief consumes you in such varying degrees and at the most inopportune times.

A few months after Dad had passed I broke down crying in the men’s underwear department at J.C. Penney. I’m not usually so sentimental about men’s undergarments, but being there brought back memories of those frantic times of trying to find Dad just the right present for Christmas or Father’s Day.

When I came up empty, my always-practical mother would always say, “Oh, just get him some long underwear. He can always use those.”

And more often than not I shipped off packages of long johns to the point where he must have wondered if I myself had a fetish for men’s unmentionables.

The sight of Holstein cows has made me tear up, too, because so much of Dad’s life was spent in the barn among the dozens of Holstein milk cows he so loved.

I remember my oldest brother and I helping Dad pull a breeched calf one night when I was about 10 years old. He needed our little bits of manpower as he somehow maneuvered and pulled the twisted calf from its mother. The details are blurry, except for the end result: a slimy newborn, alive because we had a hand in its fate. The lesson learned: Life doesn’t come easy sometimes, but it’s worth the effort.

The tears come less often these days, and what I’m left with are the many important lessons Dad instilled through the years.

First, change the oil in your car regularly.

I say this tongue-in-cheek because although my father was a dairy farmer by trade, he was a mechanic at heart. When I was out on my own in my early 20s he relentlessly quizzed me about my car-care routine — what kind of oil was I using, had I checked the tires, what about a tune-up? Suffice to say I got the message.

Second, be there for your family.

Dad had a way of providing quiet leadership, stepping in when we needed help and backing off when we didn’t. Because farm life was so all-consuming there wasn’t a lot of down time for Dad to “play” with us when we were young.

But he told us fabulous bedtime stories and took us swimming at Silver Lake on hot, humid summer nights. In the winters he hauled us to nearby frozen ponds on Sunday afternoons and skated with us.

He never missed a band concert or class play, though I now realize the hardship of him having to stop field work early those days so he could get the milking done before heading to town.

Third, love what you do.

I’ve written in past columns about my father’s passion for dairy farming, but it’s worth repeating. He thoroughly enjoyed his profession, and that kind of contentment is rare, I think. Though he toiled from dawn until dusk most days, he exuded a kind of peace that was very soothing in hindsight.

There aren’t many people I know who are as comfortable with the life they’ve chosen as my father was. He led by example, knowing that we were watching and learning, and that someday we’d need to tap into all of those lessons he was so unassumingly teaching us.

Happy Father’s Day. I’ll be thinking of you, Dad.

Features editor Lynnette Hintze may be reached at 758-4421 or by email at lhintze@dailyinterlake.com.