Ken and Helen Fosket, Wedding Day, Sept 3, 1948

My dad, Ken Fosket, passed away in 2017. He would have celebrated his 95th birthday last week. Had a news reporter asked Dad, “What’s your secret to living a long life?” I think he would have answered with one word, “Love.”

Dad served in the army in Japan. While he was there his company found a toddler whose mother was dead, so they took her in, fed her and cared for her until other arrangements could be made. They gave her the name Gloria Irene. Dad didn’t tell too many army stories, but he told us about this little girl. It brought a light to his eyes whenever he spoke of her.

After he returned home he ran into his cousin Marion and  her young daughter, Kay, at a family reunion. Once again, Dad was charmed by the child. He began to dream of being a parent.

When he knew that he’d like to marry my mom, Helen, he drove her to the largest house in town and said to her, “Would you marry me and help me fill that house with kids?” That suited Mom just fine. Within eight years of their marriage, they had five children.

One Sunday evening during the first few weeks of their marriage, Dad made a decision that impacted the rest of his life. An invitation was given at the end of the church service for those who wanted to accept Christ as their Savior to come to the altar for prayer. Dad went forward and gave his life to Jesus. From then on he had a foundation on which to build his life and his family. He never looked back.

Dad and Mom were married for 69 years

Dad worked installing floor covering, eventually owning his own store. It was hard work. The carpet rolls were heavy and his knees were calloused from using the carpet stretcher which he “kicked” with his knee. He worked each day till the job was done, so our dinner was often after 6:00. But it was worth the wait. We talked and laughed and shared our day’s happenings and worked through problems, cocooned around the family table. With love and grace, Dad and Mom taught us  life lessons and modeled for us how to care for one another.

We seldom ate out, but when we had a plan to do so we had to practice good manners. We wouldn’t be able to go out to eat if we didn’t demonstrate good manners at our own table. (They were sly, those two!)

Dad was our family entertainment center. He let us “dog pile” on him, played games with us, taught us to ride bikes, and read to us. Best of all, he told us Preacher Mohod stories¹. This circuit riding preacher rode his horse Scar through the frontier, sharing the good news of Jesus’ love wherever he went. Mule, his dog, always joined him. Each story had him in a different setting—talking with the men gathered on a Saturday at the general store, holding a service in a one-room school house with a blazing fire in the Franklin stove, or stopping in to share an encouraging word over dinner with a frontier family. Each story had a Bible lesson woven into it.

When we were little we’d get up on Saturday mornings and climb into bed with our parents. Mom would get up and make breakfast while Dad made up a new Preacher Mohod story.

Tom Fosket, 1967

As we got bigger, our 1100-square foot house seemed to get smaller. Over a 10-year period, Dad doubled the size of the house. Not only did it give us more space for ourselves, but it allowed us to have sleepovers and youth group parties, bridal showers, and other large gatherings.

Tom was 18 when he was killed in a car accident. I was almost 17. During our midweek prayer service that evening Dad had stood and given a testimony of thanks to God for our family. We hadn’t yet left the church when we got word of Tom’s death. It was especially hard on Dad. Tom was popular with classmates and teachers alike. He was known in the community because of his music and his involvement in Youth for Christ. As people got the news they came to our house to offer us comfort. Dozens of people came, some in small groups, others alone. They were so upset but felt like they needed to come. Even in Dad and Mom’s pain, they were able to share the peace of Christ with the visitors. I remember people saying as they left our house that they had come to comfort us, but that they had been comforted themselves. I believe that this experience also strengthened Dad and Mom.

We all grew up and moved away. But Dad remained our cheer leader. When the grandchildren came along he invested in wind-up toys that he could hide in their pockets and suitcases when they came to visit. This  family photo was taken in 2007. With marriages and births, the family has now doubled in size, kind of like our house. Dad would love to watch his great-grandchildren grow up.

My dad was no superhero. He was a humble, gentle man who embraced the love of God and loved others because he himself was loved (see 1 John 4:19). And he was faithful to the God he loved. Yes, I think Dad’s answer to the news reporter would be that his secret to living a long life was love.

Thank you for showing us how to love, Papa.

 

Dad and me, 2015

I love you,
Ginger

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

¹You will find a couple of Preacher Mohod stories on this blog: Away in a Manger and A Saturday Story.