Today was my father’s birthday. He would have been 91. I can’t imagine him that old. He passed when he was 62 and I was 17. Even though it’s been so many years, there are still moments when something will happen or I’ll see or hear something that reminds me of him. Those moments often produce some tears. I often wonder how my life might have been different if he’d lived longer. Would I have made the same poor choices and have broken his heart like I did my mom’s for a lot of years? Even the possibility of that idea causes me to be grateful that he didn’t witness my downward spiral. Maybe my choices would have been different. Only God knows.
I’ve been thinking about my dad today due to all these protests going on because of the states that are working to pass legislation to limit collective bargaining for state employees. Whenever I think about unions, I think about my dad. He was a blue collar worker and his job was with a unionized shop. I remember a few of the times the union would call for a vote on whether or not to strike and how upset my dad would get about it all. He always voted against a strike. Always. It wasn’t that he would have turned down more money or better benefits, but my dad remembered The Great Depression. He was a kid, but he was old enough to see how devastating it was. He experienced it firsthand. That event shaped his life greatly. He learned that when times are tough, any job is better than no job. He was always grateful for the job he had. He really didn’t understand why anyone would walk out on their job. He would have cleaned toilets with a toothbrush for 18 hours a day before he’d sit at home or on a picket line. I remember seeing how pained he was when, even though he voted against it (he was always in the minority), the shop would strike. I don’t know if he ever suffered for the way he voted with his co-workers. If he did, he never mentioned it. I’ve always been proud of him for his strong work ethic and that he wasn’t afraid to vote his conscience, even if his wasn’t a very popular stance.
Dad was not a perfect man, but I think he did okay considering his life circumstances. He was one of three children, although his brother, Gilbert, died as a child. I didn’t find out until much later that my grandfather told my dad that he wished it had been him that had died instead of Gilbert. Tough as my dad was on the outside, I can only imagine how that must have hurt him. Turns out my grandfather was not a very nice man at all. Dad only went to school through the 7th grade. He joined the military young and ended up stationed in the Philippines
The first time I ever saw my dad cry was when my mom found a lump in her breast. It scared me so much to see him cry that I thought for sure my mom was done for. Thankfully, that wasn’t the case! That wasn’t the last time I saw him cry. I think his heart problems had been coming on for some time. You know how men rarely seek the medical attention they should. Especially after his second heart attack, he seemed to get more and more emotional. I know a lot of it was frustration at not being able to do what he used to do. He couldn’t work – couldn’t even vacuum the carpet without pain. It was hard to see him struggle. The Lord was merciful and he didn’t struggle too long. In the middle of one November, dad suffered respiratory failure at home. I wasn’t there; I was out with a school function. By the time the paramedics got there and revived him, his brain had suffered too much damage. He was in a coma for a month and he slipped away on December 20th. Some folks say it’s easier when you’re expecting it, but I don’t think it is.
One of my most vivid memories was how every night before he went to sleep, he’d be propped up in bed reading his Bible. I still have that Bible. It’s falling apart and filled with newspaper clippings and bits and bobs from here and there that he wanted to save. Dad often told me, “No matter what, don’t forget God.” I don’t think he even realized how much little things like that stuck with me. It was little things like that which enabled me to know which way to turn when I was tired of blowing up my own life. Looking back, I can see that his relationship with God was imperfect, but he walked in the light he had. Thanks, Daddy, and happy birthday. I miss you. I’ll see you soon.
Lord, thank you so much for a father who, while not perfect, was everything that I needed him to be. And thank you, Lord, that you have not left me an orphan, but in you, I have a perfect Father and the hope that I’ll see my earthly dad again…
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