Today would have been my father's 100th birthday. Ira H. Dombach was born February 21, 1909 to Harvey and Mary Dombach. I don't know much about my father's childhood. I don't recall hearing stories from his childhood when I was growing up. Perhaps my older brothers and sisters recall stories he told, but I don't have any. But I do have a few memories of my father during my childhood.
Daddy used to go to a chiropractor in Ephrata. Strange as it may seem we loved to be the one to ride with him when he went to his appointments. When the appointment was over, he would often take us for an ice cream cone at Ephrata Cloister Dairy. And it was there that he would buy the 2 1/2 gallon tub of ice cream that would become our Sunday evening supper. Often it was chocolate, but in the early spring and summer we sometimes enjoy the fruity flavors of strawberry and peach. Being invited to go on errands with Daddy was always special and some sort of treat was usually included in the outing. I remember going for drives with our parents when we were young or to Palmyra to visit our relatives. For many years (at least until Linda was about 4), I was always the one nudged to ask Daddy if we could stop for ice cream. And then we all waited with bated breath while Daddy asked Mom (in Pennsylvania Dutch) what she thought about the idea. My parents spoke to each other in Pennsylvania Dutch when they didn't want us kids to know what they were saying; however, though we never learned to speak Dutch there were certain things we learned to understand!
Before I was born my dad owned a greenhouse. During this time he built his own home on a small plot of land. When I was 6 months old my parents sold the house and moved to a farm near Landis Valley, because, I am told, the growing family needed more space. So my growing up years were spent on the farms that my parents rented - first at Landis Valley, then Millersville, and finally Manheim. At Millersville I remember helping to farm tobacco. When I was old enough my job was to drop the lathes used to string up the tobacco and then to drive the tractor to load up the tobacco and take it to the barn for drying. I also remember times in the "stripping room" helping to strip and size tobacco. It was a family job; everyone worked together to get the jobs done.
One of the legacies our father left us was the legacy of love for his wife and the evidence of strong marriage and family relationships. My memory may be dim, but I don't remember ever hearing my parents fight. They respected each other and valued each other's ideas and opinions. And though my father was not demonstrative in his love toward his children, we never doubted that he loved us. He may not have spoken the words "I love you" to us but his love for us was genuine. We just knew that we could count on Dad even when we "messed up." He encouraged us by working along side us, gently showing us the way to work, to live, to love, and to believe in God. And even though they may not have had much money,
he always took Mother out to Kegels for an oyster dinner on their anniversary and for a banana split on her birthday. And Daddy never went away without first coming and giving Mother a good-bye kiss. On the night he died, he got up from the table and gave Mother a kiss before heading back out to the field. She asked him where he was going. Somewhat surprised he said, "nowhere." An hour later the tractor upset and he died on the way to the hospital. It was as though he knew he was going Home and he wanted to tell her "good-bye." Daddy died on May 24, 1963. He was 54. I was 14. I wish I had more memories of him than what I do, but I will always cherish those I do.Happy Birthday, Daddy! I wish you were here to celebrate!
