As this Father’s Day approaches, I’ve found myself thinking
more about my Dad. He was in his
fifties when I was born, so we didn’t have the close relationship of most. I don’t ever remember playing football
or tossing a baseball with him.
He was a quiet man, except when something didn’t work
right. He had served on a
submarine in the Navy. That
experience endowed him with words that could make my Mom madder than a wet cat. “Jack” she would scream after hearing a
sixty- second barrage of harsh language.
He’d look, and say, “what”?
The salty language would just come out automatically. He didn’t even realize it.
Mother was a devoted Christian and a faithful member of the
Church of Christ. Her Dad was an
Elder who lived within rock throwing distance of our house. Dad didn’t go to church. He did at one time, but got angry over
an incident involving a preacher and something about the Lord’s Supper. The details remain a mystery to me and
I’m not sure why I never asked. I
guess I figured Dad wouldn’t say anything about it and Mom was just too
embarrassed. He would listen to
gospel music every Sunday morning.
I think now that he probably missed attending. I did see Dad in church one time at Easter, when I was
little. Then, never again. It must have brought back too many
memories.
Again, Dad was mostly quiet about things. He didn’t say much in a conversational
way. Course, it was probably
because Mom did all the talking.
They were opposite in most regards. I easily figured out neither were happy with the other, even
at my young age. They fought a
lot, not loud fighting, but the quiet kind. They wouldn’t speak to each other for days, and then
suddenly everything would be back to normal. He probably learned, like most married men, it’s best to be
quiet!
Money was always tight. Dad didn’t make that much as a meat cutter and Mom tended to
impulse buy at times. She
controlled the checkbook, and for some reason, couldn’t keep the balance
correct. I remember meals of
cornbread and milk. We had a lot
of pinto beans and discounted meat that Dad would get at work. We never went hungry, so Dad was a good
provider.
He had tons of integrity. I saw Dad cry once. My sister’s boyfriend was arrested by
the Sheriff for theft. No one in
our family had ever had trouble with law enforcement. Dad took that hard, but moved past it.
He smoked two packs of Cool cigarettes for most of his
life. Finally, he decided to quit
smoking somewhere around my high school years. Five years later, he was diagnosed with emphysema and began
a slow suffocating death. It is a
cruel disease because it slowly takes your breath away over a period of years.
Dad fought it admirably, but death finally came to the quiet
man who was devoted to his family.
Being much older now, I respect him more now than I ever did while I was
young. I know he went through hard
times with difficult people. He
probably had much to tell me, but I was too busy to ask or listen. Most of us take our parents for
granted. All you can think about,
being young, is fledging the nest and starting out on your own. After that, most never look back.
This Father’s Day, if your dad is still around, appreciate
it. Maybe you’d like to ask him
something that will bother you twenty years from now, when he’s gone. It’ll bother you, not because you don’t
have the answer, but maybe because you didn’t ask the question.
