By Jennifer Vranes

When I was a child I was very inquisitive.

Coming from a family of eleven children, one-on-one time with a parent was special.

 I used to love to go with my dad on Saturdays, to make the bank drop, and get a lollipop, after his Saturday morning office visits.

We had what’s called, a home-office combination.

The front of our home had a welcoming entrance to my father’s chiropractic office.

There was a waiting room, chiropractic assistant’s main area, my father’s private office, four patient rooms, a bathroom, and a dark room for developing films.

The architect, that built, and lived in the home, before our family, had designed the majority of the home, with large floor-to-ceiling windows.

This was entertaining to the chiropractic assistants, who from their side of the house, could see us children, playing, and being the silly, adventurous sorts we were.

The other half of the house was busy cooking, cleaning, reading, playing the piano, and many other instruments, vinyl records, and Atari, chatting on the phone, and entering, and exiting the yard, and the many places, a family of thirteen would go.

This made for entertainment for the patients as well.

Guessing what delectable dish my mother was cooking, hearing the occasional plunk on the piano, with the thoughtless vocalizing to coincide with whatever 70’s/80’s tune was playing.

The clink of seven ice cubes to fill my dad’s large glass mugs of distilled water, and the three beeps on the intercom, if the home was getting a bit too loud.

Through our windows, we were entertained by the ongoing game of tag with the squirrels, who so abundantly, resided in the tall trees, throughout the property, and if you were lucky, you might spot a fluffy, white-tailed bunny.

Identifying the many beautiful birds that frequented our area. Red cardinals, blue jays, robins, and blackbirds, to name a few.

My mother, Sarah, loved to point out her favorite birds and often had a short poem or country phrase to share, that included that type of bird. 

It was important to her, to cook from scratch, three meals a day, and she loved to listen to her favorite classical station, or the Mormon Tabernacle Choir on her short band radio in the background.

We would chuckle at the new patient, that would drive down the long driveway, only to wonder how the office in front, quickly transformed, to many a bicycle, and which door was the entrance.

As kids, we would run out to let the “lost” soul, find their way back to the office, and patient parking, thus the eventual placement of the “horses”, to block the top of the driveway.

Two traffic blockades, that soon attracted two childlike monkeys, to climb all over, and use as part of our obstacle course.

My little brother, whipping around them, with his handy Big Wheel handbrake, and me to follow  on my smokin’ fast, banana seat Schwinn.

Our chiropractic assistants, a.k.a. C.A.’s, or at times second mothers, either found amusement while busily working, or the occasional wrap on the window, and disapproving look, if they saw us, engaging in a feat that would wind us up, next in line, for my dad’s office services.

My dad had a subtle sense of humor, these great little one-liners. Little did I know these were life-learning phrases.

I recall being befuddled, at one who deemed herself as a church-going, well-respected woman, yet too often, came across as short-tempered, and cold.

My dad eased my mind, by quietly under his breath, telling me she was about as cuddly as a cactus, with a little smirk to follow.

We would quietly chuckle to ourselves, and the little phrase resolved my concern and dissipated the confusion.

As a child, I didn’t like my dad to go out of town for work seminars. Sometimes, my dad would let me go up to the airport tower, to watch the planes fly in, at Chicago’s O’Hare International Airport, before jetting off to one of his destinations.

One time I asked him why he liked to work and attend these seminars. Not understanding, what could be better than spending time with me.

On many occasions, I would put my ear up to the sliding, wooden door separating the house from the office, and listen to hear if my dad was meeting with a patient.

If quiet, then I would slide open a crack of the door, ever so carefully. I may have had an adventure to share, an injustice to declare, or if I was lucky, I might have found my dad, peeling down the paper, of one of his many flavors of life savors.

My dad was a large-built, strong, macho kind of man, yet he made it a practice to always give a reassuring hug or hearty handshake, when greeting his patients.

I recall asking him, more out of disdain, why he always got up from his desk to greet his patients. I was conveniently standing right next to his private candy drawer, and perfectly poised to ask him, if he would like me to get him a lifesaver. In this case, I would have suggested the butter rum or cherry flavor. To my dismay, I was interrupted, as my dad hopped up to greet a patient in the next room.

When he returned, I asked him why he always hugged his patients. My great big dad, quietly, and reverently told me it was something he learned called, the Love Concept. I’m sure I shot him a, what are you talking about glance, and my dad went on to explain.

He said he had great respect for a man named, Dr. James Parker. I knew this name well, because my dad attended, and taught at many of the Parker seminars.

He said that people heal better when they know they are loved and cared about. He makes it a goal to reach out to each of his patients, in the office, every day.

That there is a power in the human touch.

There was a humble, quietness in the room after my dad shared this with me. This big, tough, protector of mine, making sure his patients knew that he cared about, and loved them.

I recall in another instance, overhearing an older man, who was one of his last patients of the day, being he had a labor-intensive manufacturing job.

This man choked up when my dad gave him a hearty hug. He said he hadn’t been hugged in a very long time.

It was no wonder to me, how my dad’s patients became friends and returned to his office for years and some decades.

When I was twelve, my younger brother, and I began attending these seminars with our parents.

Dad and I at a Parker Seminar Dinner

We had our classes, respective to our age. I recall a wife of a chiropractor, I believe from Arizona, teaching a story about the lively wife who made life exciting, and playful in her home, but went too far, and the family, all too often ate late at night. Compared to the highly-disciplined, but the not too fun wife, who ran an orderly, but boring home, and how a happier home would be a balance of the two.

I remember how genuinely happy, and fun these seminars were, and the many successful families I saw.

When I woke up this morning, thoughts of this love concept came to mind.

I wanted to write my thoughts down.

I looked up the school, where my father was an instructor, in his later years, Parker College of Chiropractic.

In retrospect, he could have taught anywhere, but he moved our family from Illinois to Texas, so he could be a part of this college and its teachings.

I was surprised to find the love concept had many more ideas.

A flood of remembrances ensued. I see now, that these ideals, shaped my life, in many more ways, than I ever knew.

I hear my father’s voice in such phrases as:

 

“If it is to be, it is up to me.”

 

“Do not let the negative few overrule the positive many.”

 

“I will anticipate the good – even during the bad.”

 

“Loving service is my first technique.”

 

“Develop a compassion to serve that is greater than the compulsion to survive.”

 

My heart is warmed, in hearing the strength of my dad’s voice, in these words today. A legacy I will always treasure.

I love you, Dad, you are missed.

Dr. Alfred Z. States

October 12, 1929 to January 23, 2009