Today is the second Fathers Day that my Dad is not physically present with me. I wrote a little about my Dad in the article, “The Path to Wellness”. He was the one who opened that door for me as a child. A foundation I remain firm on today.
My Dad, Olavi William Niskanen, known to everyone as “Nick”, was born in Alatornio, Finland in Lapland in 1936. I loved to hear his stories about the Land of the Midnight Sun, the colorful night sky of the Northern Lights, the daylight all summer and the darkness all winter, and especially about working for the Bishop taking care of his horses. Very few people had a car. The ones that were there were Model A’s. Most people had horse drawn wagons and sleds. Everyone used cross country skis to get around.
They were poor and the Nazi’s had occupied the area where he lived. He had many stories of those encounters as well. My Grandfather came to America to work and save money to bring my Grandmother, Father and his brother and sister to America. They traveled to Stockholm Sweden and boarded a boat to New York City and began a new life in the Bronx, where he met my Mother.
Me and Dad at Christmas in the Bronx
I have no recollection, except for a few memories, and pictures of the city. We moved up to Yonkers, NY in what I refer to as a “Leave it to Beaver” suburban neighborhood. A good place where everyone knew everyone and looked out for each other. Although I had many plastic horses on my dresser and a little barn and paddock that Dad and I built together, seeing real horses was rare. Once a week, a very old man would come down the road in a horse drawn wagon with vegetables from his garden displayed on the back. People would come out to buy them and I would watch out the window of our upstairs apartment or sit on the steps of our front door in awe of that horse. It wasn’t long before that sight faded from the landscape forever.
The last two years we lived there, Dad took us on a vacation to the Poconos in PA for a week during the summer. During that week, he took me and my younger sister to a riding stable on one of those days. I was 9 years old and as soon as I sat on the horse I recognized my “True North”, and that the rest of my life would include horses. The second year we went all I looked forward to was the day we went riding. The memory of riding along side of my Dad through the trails, water crossings and loping through the fields is as clear as it was when we were there so long ago.
Me, my sister and Dad on our first trail ride together, Me and Dad at Mid Summer Festival in Rhode Island (A Finnish Festival), and the last time we skied together
Dad bought us a house in Putnam County, upstate NY in 1970 and my dreams of seeing horses, being close to them and riding were realized in a much bigger way. In my first “Every Horse has a Story” Sybil, it kind of picks up from here.
Perhaps you may want to share a memory here about your Dad as we honor our Fathers today.