As many
of you know, my dad passed away in early January of this year. Had he lived, he
would have been 90 years old tomorrow, August 25. Many times I would tell him
that he needed to hang on until then because we were going to have a big party
for him. And even though he seemed to be in pretty good health, his body
decided it was time to go. His kidneys had been weakening for years, so when he
developed a urinary tract infection that got into his blood, his body just
couldn’t handle it and started falling apart. Even so, I am thankful that he
was around as long as he was. My mom was seven years older than my dad, and her
body decided to quit functioning back in September 2002.
Dad was
one of eight siblings. He had four brothers and three sisters; some older and
some younger. Yet Dad was the last one standing. He always said that due to
several health problems like high blood pressure and diabetes, he didn’t think
he would live very long. He was wrong. Unlike my mother, he was a big believer
in doctors. Whenever he had a problem, he would see a doctor to find out what
was wrong and try to fix it. He was also very diligent about taking his
medications and eating right. On the other hand, my mom had to be nearly on her
death bed to be willing to go see a doctor. Different strokes for different
folks, I suppose.
Dad was
an interesting man. He really didn’t like conflict, so he almost always had a
smile on his face and kind things to say. Sure, like anyone, he occasionally
had his “I can’t take this anymore” nerve pinched and he would fly off the
handle. But growing up, I rarely saw this. I can only remember getting two
spankings. There may have been more, but I just don’t remember them. Had he not
been a non-confrontational person, I’m sure I would have gotten many more. When
we would be at his house and had to get firm with Andrew, he would always try
to interject some humor to defuse the situation.
Dad was
born into a family of sharecroppers back in 1923. They didn’t own their own
home. They would stay in the landowners’ extra home, farming his land, and
getting a percentage of the crop they made. When he had extra time, he would
also hire out to other landowners to make some extra money. They didn’t have
much, but he never mentioned going hungry. In fact, he always told me that
during the summer when he was working long days behind a mule in the fields, he
couldn’t stomach eating much breakfast. However, when winter hit and the
workload lightened, he could eat huge breakfasts. There must have been
something about all that work that affected his appetite. But still that 140
pound kid could haul 100-pound bags on his shoulders. “Strong as an ox” is the
phrase that comes to mind.
When Dad
was 16 years old, their house caught on fire and his father was killed.
Everyone else made it out alive. Dad was the oldest boy still at home, so he
effectively became the man of the house. Dad told me that the fire may have
been an accident related to the fireplace, but they also suspected two boys in
a family that was competing with them for sharecropping the land. They never
found out for sure what really happened.
Dad only
had a fourth grade education, so mostly worked at factory jobs. He married in
1946 and I was born in 1955. Even with his sparse education, he was always
fascinated with electronics. He began reading up on how they work and
eventually started his own side business repairing TVs and radios. He would
probably have made a great electrical engineer had he had the educational
opportunities he provided for me.
After I
was born, Dad got a job with GE in Louisville, KY, and worked there until he
retired in the mid-1980’s. Shortly after retiring, he and my mom moved back to
Alabama and bought a house. They lived there the rest of their lives. I just
recently sold this house.
I always
remember quirky things my dad liked to do. He could make a sound like a train,
kind of like Johnny Cash would do when singing Folsom Prison Blues. Whenever we
would be leaving his house, he would make a V symbol with each hand and shake
his head like Nixon used to do. Whenever you would ask him how he was doing, he
would answer, “I’m still kicking. But not too high.”
Dad
liked to talk about the wonders of the Universe and the Bible. We had a number
of late night talks about these topics. Many times we just said the same things
we had already said before, but that was okay; we still enjoyed talking.
Interestingly, Dad and I never really discussed politics too much. I don’t know
why for sure. It just seemed that it didn’t come up too much.
My wife
and I just saw “Lee Daniels' The Butler” at the theater last night. This was a
disturbing, yet very intriguing movie. The acting was superb. Seeing how blacks
were treated in this country always gets me on edge. I was thinking how my dad
was raised during times of great discrimination. He even used some of the
derogatory terms for blacks. But I never got the sense that he meant them in a
derogatory way. They were just the terms he was familiar with. In his later
years, during some of our conversations, I found that Dad had become quite the
modern thinker. He didn’t think it was right to treat people badly over things
they had no control over, such as their skin color or their sexuality. Given
that I believed this way also, I was glad to hear he agreed with me. We were
also both skeptics when it came to certain claims in the Bible.
It’s
been over seven months since Dad died, and I am now getting used to the idea
that he is gone. But I still sometimes wish he was around to visit and have one
of those late night discussions, even if we said the same old things again.
I am
skeptical about there being an afterlife and so was Dad. But if there is one,
perhaps one day we can visit a few galaxies togethers and then sit down for a
more informed discussion about the wonders of the Universe.
Goodbye
Dad. I hope to see you again. But not too soon!