Kyle Remembers

Today's post was written by my husband, Kyle, in memory of his dad.

Erle K. Anderson passed away on Friday, December 5, 2025, at age 88.

Alzheimer's disease is a great robber of memories. Not only the memory of the one suffering, but sadly, our own memories of the man who was. I’d like to take a few minutes to help us all remember who my dad was and how he influenced us.

Dad often referred to himself in the 3^rd person as E. Kermit. I think this was his way of sort of stepping into a phone booth and turning into Superman. At least that’s how I viewed him as a kid. He was the original work-from-home dad. Which was heavy on home and often seemed light on the work side. That’s because he seemed to ALWAYS be available to play…at least to my 10 year old self. My favorite game was 2 on 2 basketball with the four of us (Brian and me vs. Dad and Trent). I believe at this point in time we are deadlocked at 951 wins each. This is because Dad could control the game with his money hook shot with either hand. When we’d seemingly win the game with Brian burying a deep jumper, Dad would calmly drop a 15 foot left handed banking hook shot in to win the game…or if it was “our turn” to win he’d let Trent toss up a brick and then figure out how to keep him from punching a hole in the wall by telling him “Winners never quit and quitters never win."

Time was something that didn’t seem to have a bottom when it came to Dad. No matter what was going on, he wanted to include us. Even when he had to work, he’d find ways to make life fun. I’ll never forget the “newsletter assembly lines” we’d work on as a family when he was working for Christian Service Brigade. We each had our jobs as assemblers, folders, staplers, etc. He found a way to make a tedious project a family night memory.

We didn’t have much money back then and anytime something would break; Dad would need to fix it. He’d say “Kyle Bud, do you want to go to the hardware store?” and off we’d go. I’d slip my hand in his and we’d wander the aisles looking for the part he needed to fix the washer, dryer, window, or whatever. I can still remember the feel of my hand in his, our little back and forth squeeze game going on throughout the store. At one point, maybe when I was 14, I remember walking through the store with him with my hand in his and thinking, “I’m too old for this." I let go and now I wish I could feel his hand in mine again.

Dad was generous and kind with not just us but seemingly anyone in need. A family was new to our church, and they didn’t have anything. Which was only slightly less than what we had. However, we had inherited a 1950’s Chevy from my mom’s uncle. This meant we had more cars than we needed, and our sweet beige station wagon was available. If it was me, I’d have offered up the 1950’s Chevy but I’m thinking we needed the cash. The needy family got my favorite car with a promise to pay later. Dad worked with the father to get his driver’s license and even paid for the title transfer for them out of our meager savings. The kicker is, one day this family disappeared and so did the unpaid for car. I was MAD! It wasn’t fair, it was stealing. But...Dad just shrugged it off in spite of the likely significant financial hardship this caused. He trusted in God’s leading and provision and never bothered to investigate the disappearance. I guess he figured that he was just being faithful, and the Lord would provide all we needed, and looking back, I guess He did.

My Dad delighted in us. We moved to Alexandria midway through my sophomore year of high school. Dad had started teaching there at the beginning of the year and commuted home on weekends. Apparently during the week, he not only taught math but also bragged about his kids. On my first day there I walked into math class, with dad as my teacher, and Kristi was first in line to ask me to the midwinter dance! This was a new and exciting experience for shy little me and the beginning of some significant disagreements about which girls were okay to date and whether school dances were okay to attend. I was never one to shy away from an argument and we had many heated ones. We never came to an agreement on the whole high school dating situation. In spite of this, I felt his delight. Yes, he was proud of my accomplishments, especially as a good Math student (which strangely also seemed to be an eligibility requirement for potential dates) but mainly he delighted in me….no matter how bad our basketball team was or how much we argued. He was always quick to apologize and ALWAYS desired to stay in relationship with me.

Our last argument happened about 20 years ago. It’s still vivid in my memory. Mom and Dad had found the “Cabinet” on Spectacle Lake. A tiny little shack that was available. As he always did, he asked me if I wanted to look at it with him. Of course, I said yes, and Grant and I joined him for a recon mission. If you know Grant, he’s a 7 on the Enneagram Scale and he was already exhibiting his 7-ness at age 12. He had so many ideas and wasn’t afraid to express them all to Pop. He was excited and bursting with options. Now, Dad was NOT a 7 on the Enneagram Scale. I’m not sure what number he would be, but likely whatever is the opposite of a 7. Little Grant plowed right through Pop’s patience limit that day! We tensly headed back to the house in Stanchfield and as we pulled into the driveway the dam broke and Pop said something like “Grant needs to know his place and stop acting like a know it all precocious little punk”. My inner papa bear instantly went off and the gloves came off. Back and forth we went arguing about Grant’s personality, me defending him as an excited kid filled with wonder and ideas, and Pop thinking a kid should know his place, keep quiet and let the adults make decisions. A clash of backgrounds no doubt. At one point Pop compared Grant to the biblical David saying he was just like him, a prideful kid who thinks he knows better. I responded with something like “David was filled with the Holy Spirit”! and our argument sped down a new path. As I tearfully defended my kid in the driveway ready to fight, and Dad tenaciously defended his interpretation of scripture, Grammy came out and snuck a wide-eyed Grant into the house. We didn’t resolve our argument that night. Neither one of us was ready for that. However, as was the norm, I got a handwritten snail mail letter a few days later. Dad’s apology. He admitted that David was actually filled with the Spirit and he was wrong to lose his patience. He wanted to make sure WE were OK. That our relationship was good. This is what he always did! Any time we argued, he’d always come back to the situation and make sure we were OK. That all was forgiven. And that we were IN relationship. 

Grant stopped by the Cottages during Pop’s last days. He brought his guitar and sang a few songs, including a couple that he had written. One of them was about living a life for God’s glory and honor. I’m pretty sure he learned that from Pop, and I’m pretty sure Pop was being unwittingly prophetic that day in comparing Grant to the Psalmist David.

I’m realizing that my Dad was teaching me every moment of his life how to follow Jesus, and how to live like him. Jesus can handle our arguments because Jesus delights in us. He wants to spend every moment with us. Jesus will take every twist and turn of our lives and use it for something completely beyond our imagination. Dad taught me that a life lived for the good of others is just what Jesus did and worth more than anything this life can offer. And most importantly, he taught me that Jesus desires a relationship with us.

I guess Dad did have an “S” hiding under his shirt…it just stood for Spirit (as in the Holy one). And I know if E. Kermit could share a last word with us today, he’d say “grab Jesus’ by the hand and hang on tight."