First let me say this. For those who may know me and know the town I’m from and mentioned in my last post. I don’t mean any disrespect to you especially if you still live there, it’s just my own feelings and experiences in the first 17 years of my life. They are not great. It was hard. And I don’t have fond memories from living there. That’s all. Nothing against any of the people or acquaintances I had in school, etc. Merely stating a fact. That being born and growing up there at least for me was tough.

That said, I ended my last post with the sheer embarrassment I experienced misquoting a word in the Bible. Being laughed at for whatever it was I said wrong. Luckily Dad was not there when that happened or else he too may have made a comment to me. That particular incident closed my mouth for the entire time I was in school, years of working jobs where I would not participate in meetings or brainstorming sessions. Anyway, that’s the way it worked out, enough said.

Things would go along pretty good there for several years. Dad and I stuck together like “peas and carrots” as Forrest Gump says. Because Dad had really wanted a boy, I tried to do the things he wanted to teach me. Like taking care of a car. He would tell me to watch him do certain things on a car and explain to me about different parts of the motor and how to check the oil, battery, radiator, etc. Cars were very important to him. He traded up every year to a new car. When the neighborhood kids and I would play kickball or something similar, if the ball accidently got away from us and bounced against his car, we knew “hells fury” was about to come down on us. The other kids would run. I was at home so guess who faced the wrath.

Dad had several “stands” of bees down in the country at his Mother’s house. I had been with him, of course, to “rob” the bees. I watched from the car as he put on his protective coveralls and screened hood. Got his smoker going and watched as he pulled the honey from the stands. He had gotten a large pan with sides from the kitchen before we left the house and managed to fill it with honeycomb stacked above the sides. I held the pan on my lap as we drove home. I don’t exactly remember how it happened but as I was getting out of the car the car door hit my arm and the pan of honey turned a flip before hitting the ground. Luckily only one small piece had fell out the rest was stuck together. I was absolutely terrified. I didn’t know what he was going to do. I just froze. The pan of honey was fine, but I had dropped it. Much to my surprise Dad didn’t get upset, he was actually pretty understanding about it. I’m sure it would have been a different story if the pan had landed face down.

One evening during dinner, I had been playing with a balloon earlier and was holding it with my feet under the table while we ate. I don’t know why I had that balloon under the table. Mom or Dad one should have taken it away from me and not even brought it in the kitchen. This was sometime after Dad’s first heart attack. Of course, me messing with that balloon with my feet, it popped and scared the crap out of my Dad. He immediately got up from the table and grabbed me by the arm. He picked me up and carried me in the bedroom and literally threw me against the wall. I landed on the bed so I was okay. It was an accident that never should have happened. Stupidity on my part. But Dad could get really mad if you pushed him far enough.

I tell you these things to give you some insight on how I was raised. From the time I was born till his death in 1971, my whole world revolved around him. He is the one who taught me things. Mom had to work and she was gone a lot so it was just me and him. I respected him. I knew to listen to him when he spoke. I didn’t want to do anything that would upset him and I wanted to learn all he was trying to teach me.

There were only two girls on my street and two sometimes 3 boys. Of course, the boys would try to terrorize the girls at times and Dad would sit and watch or be working on his car and watching out the corner of his eye. He would pull me to the side and tell me, “stand up for yourself”, “don’t let him do that to you”. Not knowing how to stand up for myself, one day the boys made me really mad. I had Coke bottles that I had been saving to cash in (you could do that back then). I ran over and grabbed an armful of bottles and started throwing one after another at the boys. I grabbed the bottles by the neck and hurled them at the boys. Dad was loving it. He yelled, “crown’em one time”. I never hit either one of them, but I was trying to stand up for myself like he told me too.

Nothing made me any happier than to spend time with my Dad.