Honoring James: Or As I Like to Call Him, Dad

Twenty years ago this week my father passed away.  For 20 years I have continued to mourn and struggle with a story that questioned my right to call him “Dad.”  Last night I decided it was time to put all of that to rest.  What follows is my tribute to him as a person and a father; a man that meant and still means a lot to me.

My father was not a powerful man, yet he was not without distinction.  He served his country for 24 years, fought in two wars, visited 119 countries, and received a long list of citations to reflect his honorable service. He produced seven children from three marriages, maybe not perfectly, but maybe without any regrets.  He was smart, witty, and a little bit funny, though you would rarely hear him laugh out loud (it was mostly a smirk on his face, with blue eyes dancing around).  He could argue a “blue” streak about politics (I only knew of him voting “red” but he still had a lot of “blue” ideas), but deep down inside of him was a willingness to give a person a right to their own opinion. He hated turnips (had to do with one bad winter and to many of them as a kid), dogs in the house (“shit”), and people that liked to brag about themselves too much.  He liked R C Colas, Three Musketeers bars, and a shiny pair of boots (that must be the military talking). He wasn’t necessarily  the hardest worker, he preferred brains to brawn, always looking for an easier way to do something.  Things didn’t have to be perfect, just usable (I still laugh now about how unprofessional his carpenter work looked; but hey, it was good enough for him, so who cares).

He had weaknesses, and faults,though, but wisdom if you were willing to listen. He would start his day with a cup of “java,” his King James New Testament, and a notepad full of figures. He had faith in God, but never really wanted you to notice how much.  He taught me to never judge a person by what you see on the outside, and always walk away from a fight if it’s possible (if it’s not, then give ‘em hell and lots of it).  He valued family, and never wrote one off just because someone got divorced. Above all, the best gift you could give him was your health and happiness, and in the end, he struggled with leaving people behind, and knowing they were okay.

Dad was the first man I ever loved.  I was crushed when he left, but now I understand why his spirit hung around afterwards.  Mom told me once that I was closer to him than anyone, and I feel like that this is true.  When he called me to come pray because he was scared to face the darkness alone, we held hands for a really long time.  I felt special in knowing that he trusted me to see him at his most vulnerable moment, and I hope that I did my job by helping him find peace. Part of me has always been my dad’s, and rest assured that as far as I'm concerned, it always will be.

God didn’t just give me to anyone.  God picked a father that would prepare me, accept me, and love me no matter what.  I honor my dad with all my heart today and for as long as I walk this earth.  I don’t know just how we will transition to what comes next, and I don’t know for sure how we will know each other then, but for here I will do my best to live up to what I know, and have learned from him.  Rest in peace, and as always, thank you for being my Dad.