Just a quick blog post today. One day I want my children and grandchildren to be able to look back and read about their family and our lives growing up.
My Daddy was not a perfect man, as none are but as I have said before, he was perfect for me.
Honor & integrity were important to him. He grew up in a family with seven brothers and sisters, he was one of the younger ones.
Growing up during the depression he didn't get the opportunity to finish high school. I always try to imagine what it must have been like for him to be a football player and enjoying school when he had to quit and go to work at sixteen, to help his family. Then to think about how well he supported his own family as we grew up, without a formal education. He was a very smart man and imagine not many people even knew he didn't graduate high school, as mama did.
He was a brick mason, he could also build anything.
He made the best pancakes I ever ate. He made them in an iron skillet and they were 10" around. He would ask "you want one or two?
Along with all his brothers, daddy was Navy. He joined at 18 and was one of just over 850 sailors who survived a hit on the USS Franklin during WWII .. half the men on the ship were lost that day. I never heard him talk much about his service, only briefly once or twice. I never heard him complain about anything, ever. He was kind, gentle and full of humor, a good dancer, loving and affectionate. He loved his children fiercely. He was compassionate for anyone who had little material wealth, he had been that child and he held a special love for people in need. He went about quietly helping, not telling anyone. I was grown before I knew some of the things he did for others. He never told it.
He was pretty passionate about his hunting & fishing too. He would go fishing on a Friday and if you asked him Sunday if he had been recently, he would say no. That's a love of fishing. I remember begging to go, just the two of us, not the boys. I loved those times with daddy all to myself. He would buy me a banana flip and an RC cola and off we went. I probably talked the entire time while he wet his hook but he didn't mind. He taught me to pop that worm in half and put it on my hook. Once we landed on a crappie bed down below Gross camp and we had to run up to Mr Bills to get a second ice chest because ours was full. We ate good for a while after that trip. We fished that day until our hands were cramping up.
When I was 8 yrs old, I was sick with a fever and mama had no sick or vacation days left. So daddy stayed home with me. We were not allowed much in the way of sweets at our house. (mama felt sugar was the downfall of man) Mama went off to work and daddy went out to his truck and came back with a box of Fruit Loops. I was ecstatic! He and I sat and ate cereal together and watched television. Mid-morning after reading a couple stories from the Childcraft and probably to get me off that sugar high, he told me to get my shoes on. In my pajamas and tennis shoes he bundled me up in a blanket and off we went.
We were going fishing. (Even at 8 yrs old I knew mama would absolutely die if she knew)
To daddy, this was a perfect plan!
We sat on that river bank and fished for hours. I remember him looking at me at one point, feeling my head with his hand. I can still see his calloused hands, tanned from the sun and rough from work, reaching for my face.
He pulled two aspirin out of his pocket and gave me a drink of water from a mason jar he brought along. (he was keeping me hydrated, mama should be proud) After a few fish and a while on that bank I began playing around and slipped my foot right into that water. It was a cold day and my shoe was soaked. Daddy decided it was time to go home and we headed out. I was tired and ready to go.
When we got home he tucked me in on the couch where I quickly fell asleep.
He had a difficult time explaining to mama why he took me fishing.. I remember my mother saying something about "What were you thinking?" He replied with a simple, "What? You think I was going to make her sick? She's already sick?"
It was the best sick day I ever had. The best.
Today he has been gone for forty-five years. It seems impossible it's been that long since I heard him laugh or hugged his neck or sat under the protection of his strong arms. I was only 19 when he died but the lessons I learned and the time I had with him are indeed priceless. He was the one who taught me the unconditional love of a father. He gave me a view of Christ seeing his love for others.
I live each day with the knowledge of the promise I will see him again.
I'm looking forward to that reunion, Lord.
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