I Originally wrote this around Father’s Day of 2024. I didn’t have a Blog at that time. LOL!!
Since Father’s day is coming up I wanted to tell some stories about my dad. It has been close to 45 years since my father died. And because I was so young then and I’m so old now, my memory is a bit sketchy. However, at times I have flashes. Memories that pop up that have been triggered by some event or situation that I may be involved in at the time. Sometimes the memory is so strong it momentarily takes me back in time. Its like I am transported back to my childhood and I’m actually there, in that space, reliving it. I can see the sights, smell the smells, relive the emotions.
I was born when my father was in his mid fifties, about the age I am now. I couldn’t imagine having a baby at my age! I think I would die. My father passed away from prostate cancer just two months shy of my tenth birthday at the ripe old age of 66! Depending on who you asked of my living siblings, would determine the type of person he was. To some he was horrible. To others he was a wise teacher. For me, he was a mixture, but I wouldn’t say horrible though. I think I held a healthy type of fear of my dad. At the same time though he was more grandfatherly. In my eyes he was a giant of a man. He may have stood somewhere around 6’2″ or so. But to me as a kid he was huge. His physical presence could be intimidating, but yet playful at times.
THE HUSBAND I SAW
As I sat one day listening to the accounts of my older siblings about my dad, his track record for being a husband was less than stellar. Yes, we do have a half brother that we finally acknowledged and have gotten to know in the last fifteen years or so. I heard stories of philandering and abuse perpetrated by my father on my mom and siblings. How, at one time she left him and went back to east Texas to stay with her family. However, he was able to convince her to come back home.
This was all news to me. Because the husband I saw was playful with my mom. Sometimes He would grab her around her waist, try to kiss on her, and she would laugh and giggle and say “quit” like a teenage schoolgirl. There were the times on some Friday nights Dad, mom and I would go to Dairy Queen for burgers. Since all of my older siblings were grown and/or gone from home we were the only three left at the house.
The only argument between them that I witnessed was actually because of me, that I started. I asked to go to a football game with some family friends and church members. Mom said no. I did the unthinkable and went and asked dad. He said yes. That’s when the argument started. I felt really bad about that – as I walked out the door on the way to the game.
Dad As my Father
As I said before my dad was more grandfatherly to me than a father. My older siblings all say I was spoiled because I got everything I wanted. That much was pretty true. But I think it was because I grew up like an only child. I was the only one at home still. So I got all the attention. Even though I had a sometimes uneasy, uncomfortable fear of my dad, I liked being with him. I loved going places with my dad. Going with him meant adventure! There were fields to be plowed. Tractors to be driven. Dirt to be hauled. Dump trucks, gooseneck trailers. Riding in the bed of the pickup. Old shops and barns with untold and hidden mysteries to be played in and explored. I would beg to go with my dad when I woke up in the mornings instead of going to nursery school (daycare). Going with dad was more fun. I learned how to drive as a child, and by the time I was 8 years old I was allowed to drive my dad’s truck by myself sometimes. Of course it was on the back roads in the country. But still – I was driving. And the times I was by myself God surely protected me! Because I broke several speed limits and plenty of laws.
My dad was old school though. That much for sure! You didn’t talk back. It was Yessir/Yes Ma’am/No sir/No ma’am! He believed in hard work and not being “lazy”. And you’d better not lie to him!
On one occasion I was lying on the couch by my dad watching TV. My mom told me to go to bed. I raised up and said ” awww Mom!” Next thing I felt was a swat on my butt. My dad had popped me. I thought he was playing. So I hit him back. He hit me again. This time much harder and then yelled, “DON’T TALK BACK TO YOUR MOM! NOW GO TO BED!” I ran down the hall crying. Partially embarrassed and partially hurting.
There was also the chicken egg incident. Which was probably the worst whipping I ever got. I’m not quite sure, but I think it is. I blacked out half way through it. But had the whelps on my back as evidence. Two things my dad didn’t like. Laziness and lying. So, I guess lying about said laziness was way over the top. I don’t remember getting disciplined by my Dad too much as a kid, but when I did, it was memorable.
My Dad taught me about FAITH
I remember, waking up way too early on school days and looking down the hall and seeing the light on in the den. I knew then my father was awake and reading his Bible. I would sneak down the hall, passed my parent’s bedroom, trying not to wake up my mom, who would make me go back to bed, to sit with my dad as he studied. I remember the first memory verse he taught me. Acts 2:38 “Repent ye and be baptized for the remission of your sins. And ye shall receive the gift of the holy ghost.” It was the KJV. The only authorized version. He told me Bible stories during these times. He told me about the walls of Jericho. I’m not quite sure, but I think the story of David and Goliath I heard from him first. Oh the memories. The formation of my faith. Those memorable moments with my dad. I cherish them.
My Dad Taught Me Patience
Not in a typical, traditional sort of way, but in a very indirect, by product of life approach. As my father’s cancer progressed, he began to get weaker. I witnessed my dad wither away. The big giant of a man was a shell of himself near the end of his life. He still wanted to go to the fields, plant crops, check on livestock and travel around. My dad was slower walking and moving now. As a matter of fact he had grown so weak he needed help putting his clothes on. That’s where I came in. I would have to help my dad get dressed in the mornings. We developed this routine. He had his underwear, undershirt, socks, pants, button down shirt and boots. He required the use of a walking cane for support and he couldn’t go far. I became my father’s personal attendant and chauffeur.
But helping my dad get dressed and assisting him with moving planted a seed of patience in me that has blessed me so much in the job that I do now. It’s amazing what God knows and how he prepares us for our journey. In my job, I help people get dressed and learn to walk and transfer again. I was literally built for the work I do.
My patients tell me all the time “you are so patient.” “Im sorry I’m so slow.” I usually respond in jest, “That’s alright, I get paid by the hour. The longer you take, the more I make.” However, there is pain behind that laughter sometimes. The flashes that I have of buttoning my father’s shirt, pulling up his pants and fastening his belt can come so strong it almost brings tears to my eyes at times.
A Faith Journey
Sometimes life feels like a play. A production if you will. It feels like a play that started before you got here and you have been cast in it. However, you were not given a script nor a chance to rehearse your lines. You just jump in and do your part. I often felt like that growing up.
Near the end of my father’s life, before he became bedridden, I saw him get rebaptized at least twice. The father I knew was vastly different from the father I heard my siblings talk about. Thinking back and looking back helps me to realize two things. People are on a life journey and two, God is gracious! My dad had to experience life and go through his own transformation. It took time and didn’t happen over night. The father I knew was more compassionate. More relaxed. And more fun. He became the Bible student. A bible teacher. He took a mission trip to Trinidad.
As a kid, I was not told what disease my father had. My mother didn’t tell me until I was a teenager what he died from. I was shocked to find out the truth. To this day, I struggle when I work with cancer patients. Sometimes, while working with them I see the face of my father. With others, it may be the face of my brother who died of brain cancer. Or the face of my mom who fought so hard and had overcome so much in her life, but finally received the well deserved rest she desired after battling liver cancer. Fighters and full of faith. They all were.
“Well, Thelma its all over.”
One thing I failed to mention was just how spoiled I was as a kid. I really wanted to be like my father and drive a tractor and plow a field. So much so, when I was around seven or eight, I began to ask my dad to buy me a “riding lawn mower”. I wanted one that had all the attachments and equipment so I could plow and plant a garden like my dad farmed fields. My dad promised me ” when you turn twelve “. I kept begging and asking. Whenever I saw someone else on a riding mower, I would point to it and say ” daddy please . . .”? “When you’re twelve son”.
Finally, I think just before my ninth birthday, one Saturday morning, my dad took me down to the Sears store. We had to get there early because the store closed at noon on Saturdays. He told me we were just going to look. Once we got there, we saw sitting on the showroom floor a sixteen horsepower riding mower with a 42 inch three blade mower deck! Next thing I knew I was driving that tractor home. My dad also bought the three point hitch and a plow. I was set! I was over the moon! So excited. I had no problem keeping the yard cut. I also planted me a garden behind our house.
It took me years, maybe after becoming an adult, to realize why my dad bought that tractor for me at eight years old. He made me a promise that he would buy me a tractor. That was the most important thing – the promise. He also knew he would not live to see my twelfth birthday. He knew his time was short.
Eventually my father was so weak and so small, he was confined to the bed. After years of going back and forth to Houston for all kinds of treatments his doctors finally sent him home to die. As a kid I didn’t know this. I always thought he would get well. Get his strength back. Regain his weight and his size and stature. I didn’t understand what was going on. Not even when they brought in a hospital bed and set it up in my parent’s room and my mom moved into another room. Not even as the cancer overtook his mind and he developed dementia. He developed a very bad pressure wound on his sacrum and my mother would have to turn him on his side to clean him and doctor the wound. When I first began working in therapy in a hospital the smell of betadine, a derivative of iodine, was so triggering for me. And so was treating said wounds.
Well, the day finally came. A few days earlier my dad took a turn for the worse and he was picked up by an ambulance and taken to the local small town hospital. As a kid, I thought this would be nothing and he would be home soon.
It was a Tuesday in August. School hadn’t started yet. I was on my riding mower that morning cutting the grass. My aunt, my dad’s sister came out on the front porch and waved me down. We had to go to the hospital immediately. I hopped off my tractor and away we went. We found my mom sitting in the waiting room. My aunt sat beside her and I sat beside my aunt a couple seats down. I didn’t know what was going on. A few minutes later, the doctor came out. It was our family doctor. He had treated all of us from time to time. He said those words to my mom. “Well Thelma, its all over.” For just a brief second I had hope. For a brief second I thought everything was better and my dad was well. I thought he was up and fully healed and fine. That was for that second. Until the crying started. It was then that I realized that that wasn’t the case. My dad. The giant of a man. My hero was gone. He lost the battle. His life was over. He would not be coming back home with us. I finally knew what “its all over” truly meant. It. Was. Done.
My father was a man, a human. Just like anybody else he had his demons. However, he showed me how to be a Godly man. He planted the seeds in me. By Gods grace, he planted in me those seeds that I needed. I wish he could see me now! Thanks Dad! Love you!