Daddy: A Giant Among Men…
Daddy died of a heart attack in the Spring of 1995, a couple of days shy of his 74th birthday. But he is still with me and always will be. People frequently tell me “You look so much like your Daddy.” Seeing snapshots of myself, I realize they are right. Daddy couldn’t dismiss me as adopted or the result of a hushed indiscretion. Daddy was short, about 5 feet, 8 inches, at least a full inch shorter than my Mom. I stretch a full 6 feet. Aside from height, checking facial features and expressions, the stooped shoulders, the general body build, there is no doubt he’s my Daddy and I’m his son.
Beyond the physical attributes, I wish so much to be like him in demeanor, attitude, and grace. Daddy was a gentle man, a quiet man. When he did speak, everyone knew to listen, for he was also a very bright, intuitive, and perceptive man who usually had something to say that was worth hearing. His father died when Daddy was a lad of about 12, back in the early 1930s. There was no such thing as mandatory schooling then, and Little Red, as people called him because of the red mop of hair atop his diminutive frame, dropped out of school and went to work to help support his mother and three siblings. His education was an alloy of street smarts, observation and absorption of everything around him, and an incredible innate intelligence. Over the span of his adult life he worked at and mastered several diverse vocations, from horologist (watch repairman) to commercial laundry expert to traveling salesman and troubleshooter for a regional chemical company. There was nothing mechanical he could not figure out and fix. Daddy was a practical genius.
He and my Mom were stalwarts in the Methodist church in our little West Tennessee town. My brother and I always knew where we would be every Sunday morning and evening, and most Wednesday nights. But never once do I remember my parents wearing their beliefs on their sleeves. Church, religion, spirituality were not topics of discussion in our home. Neither were those topics taboo. Rather, they were a way of living. I learned early on that what is really important is not the words we say, but how we conduct ourselves, how we treat others, in our daily affairs of school, business, social settings — wherever and whatever we are doing. If anyone asked his religious views, Daddy would gladly tell them. But his usual attitude was don’t talk the talk, just walk the walk. I cherish that upbringing and that attitude more than he ever knew.
I have expressed many times how I don’t like labels. That came from Daddy. Live and let live. Without him even knowing the word or the concept, he was probably as close to the definition of libertarian as one can get. He obeyed the law, respected authority, and paid his taxes, but he wished for less governance and more individual freedom. His cornerstone traits, which I have tried all my life to emulate, are honesty, fairness, integrity, and generosity. He was as humble a man as I’ve ever met. Sitting comfortably atop all of that was a wonderfully wry and dry sense of humor. He was always kidding with those close to him. With his contemporaries, he was the life of the party. In so many ways he set the bar high. I am still striving to clear it.
Everything I have, everything I am, I owe to him. Unfortunately, while he was alive I failed to tell him these things. I even failed to tell him I loved him. I like to think that there was some level of hearing and consciousness still at work as he lingered for a couple of days in a coma prior to dying, because I did tell him then. At the same time I vowed to tell my Mom while she is still alive and able to process it. And I have. Several times each year when I go back home, I go alone to his grave in Oak Hill Cemetery. I know he is not there, but the old graveyard with majestic old oak and hickory trees towering above the lower canopy of dogwoods and redbuds, is such a quiet, peaceful spot. I talk to Daddy and listen as I hear his firm but gentle voice in the breeze, urging me on, telling me how proud he is of me, and saying he loves me too.
Happy Father’s Day, Daddy!
13 Comments so far
Your father sounds like my father, who would be 69 if he were still alive (he died in 1981). In fact, except for the red hair, very, very much like my father. Thank you for sharing this.
Winston, you couldn’t have paid a finer tribute to your father. He would be so proud to read this. I suspect he was as proud of you as you were of him…even if words weren’t said. You have given us a beautiful picture of the kind of man your Daddy was….and he certainly was worthy of every word you wrote. Happy Father’s Day to you sweet guy…
What an awesome rendering of your father. You painted him vibrantly! Thanks.
No doubt you have cleared that high bar and your daddy rightly was and is proud of you. Happy Father’s Day, Winston.
Father…….
…. for Father’s Day, read this…….. I certainly liked it….. his father sounds a lot like how mine was………
I woke up thinking about my father today and he has been dead for 25 years. How wonderful for you, Winston, that your father is still so close in your heart.
That was a beautiful tribute to your daddy; I’m very fortunate to still have my dad here. We spent the afternoon/evening together yesterday and he’s coming here again today for a BBQ.
Your dad sounds like he was a great man, Winston- thanks for sharing him with us.
A splendid tribute to a marvelous daddy, Winston. You know that he knew you loved him, right? And I love your image of visiting the cemetery. That’s one thing I miss; living in NYC I don’t get the chance to pay my respects at the family gravesites. Happy Father’s Day, Winston!
Beautiful tribute, sir!
Found you through SWG…
[...] …he set the bar high. I am still striving to clear it. [...]
Lovely tribute, Winston. You and MaryB have both done your daddies proud with your words. And how proud they must have been of you too.
Except for the height you could have been writing about my dad. He was 6′4″ tall and had red hair, quit school in the 9th grade to help support the family after his parents got divorced. Back then around 1920 you did not get divorced ever but they did. He was the wisest man I ever knew and also one of the kindest. He never interfered or tried to tell you what to do when you were grown up but he was always there if you just wanted some advice and you could take it to the bank that the advice would be good. A great man and I only wish I were half what he was. I still after 25 years find myself saying I need to talk that over with Pop and then I realize that I can’t. All I can do is try to figure out what he would have said and do that.
Winston, I now understand how you’ve come to be such an open-minded and clear-thinking person. You’re a chip off the old block! Wonderful tribute.
I have the greatest respect for fathers like yours; mine left when I was 10, and never looked back. You are a lucky man, and I’m sure your Dad is right proud of you.