One More Day

The other day, a Facebook friend asked a question that was something like, "If you could spend one more day with your dad, what would you do?" There were references to a day fishing, or spending time at a ballgame and, while I wouldn't turn my nose up at a day at the ballpark, I had something else in mind.

When you stand over the coffin and look at that face and those hands, you realize with certainty, that that person is gone. The body, before you for now, but the person, the personality, has gone silent and will never return.

What I miss about Dad is his personality and the bond my personality had with his. I miss hearing him pray. He said the same prayer at meals, with little variation, for all my adult life. We would smile at the familiar words and the familiar cadence as Dad thanked God for provisions and asked for strength. We would have sworn we'd never forget it, but today, all I can recall is the ending, "as Thy Words are to our spirits. In Jesus' Name we ask it. Amen." Short 'a' on the 'amen'.

I miss his laugh. Dad would have a funny story to tell and he'd start in, but many times, would get so tickled that by the end you could hardly understand him between the laughing and gasping.

I'm not sure what got us laughing in the picture on the right, but we both are clearly enjoying ourselves. And it's obvious there was no reason for me not to let go - I was wearing plastic pants.

Dad would spend time trying to teach me to play some baseball. Here, I crushed one of his offerings, at least that's the way I remember it. I always imagined that the white dot near the building was the ball. Now I just think it's a white dot. Dad's dad had been a coach, a teacher, and a principal and so I think my dad is just doing a little coaching right here. Granddad had older kids to work with, though.










Here's some guys Granddad worked with. Inmates at Algoa Farm in Jefferson City. In this photo from 1944, Granddad is standing in the back on the left. These young men had been incarcerated by the state of Missouri and sent to the prison farm at Algoa. Granddad was the boxing coach there for a time. In 1950, a guy who'd robbed a gas station in St. Louis showed up at Algoa and learned to box there, but there is no indication that Sonny Liston ever crossed paths with my granddad.

Back to the opening question: If I could have one more day with Granddad, I think I'd like to know about teaching boxing in prison. Wouldn't you?

Here we are staring into the sun, so Grandma must be behind the Brownie camera. Every photo that Grandma took featured us facing the sun. She liked her subjects well lit. So this is in the yard at Granddad's in Forsyth. The house had been built on a steep Ozarks slope and you parked down below and walked up a very interesting flight of stairs to the house. The steps were of varying heights and depths and had once been painted red, if memory serves.

Judging by the clothing, my guess is this one was taken the same day as the one above. Granddad has been replaced by my older sister. Apparently my legs have gone wobbly and Dad is trying to steady me. You notice in his left hand is some elixar of life that I'll probably knock back on the long car ride home. Thirteen long miles made simpler because the baby has a bottle.

I think this is a sweet picture. If an image could capture fatherhood, you could pick worse ones than this. I don't know where we were going, but I'd guess to church, based on how we're dressed. You have to keep the little man's shoes tied.

But now that I look again, you can see by the shadows that the sun was in the west when the picture was taken. So I don't know where we were going.

In the end, we helped Dad with various things as age and life and illness took their toll. For his sake you'd never ask, but even one of those days would be a joy for me to re-live.

Happy Father's Day.

Pop Culture

I recently saw a Dr. Pepper commercial that featured some singer doing his glamorous thing. It was clear that the assumption was the target audience would know who this star is and, knowing it, would be compelled to consume Dr. Pepper by the tanker truck load. Clearly, I am not in this demographic. Oh, I like Dr. Pepper just fine. But I don't have Clue One who the singer is.

And this made me think of my dad.

When I was but a child, Coca-Cola produced a commercial that really resonated with the young folks. So much so that many of you, based on this very general description, know precisely what commercial I'm talking about. In the ad, hundreds of young people of many nationalities and ethnic groups were standing in a field and singing about buying everyone in the whole world a Coke. I know I was eager to have a Coke bought for me. One time this ad was running when my dad was in the room and he made some remark about the song they were singing. I don't remember exactly what he said, but it was evident that he didn't know that it was a real song that had been adapted for Coke. My older sister and I were mortified that DAD DIDN'T KNOW IT WAS A REAL SONG! What was he doing with his time for heaven's sake? You know, besides working 40-60 hours a week, working on our car, working on the house, attending meetings at the office, and meetings at the church, mowing the grass, raking the leaves, shoveling the snow, and visiting his parents and his in-laws weekly and some other stuff.

Like my dad, I have come to learn that there is just no time for everything and one of the things I have largely let go of is awareness of current popular culture, i.e., the People magazine beat. I watch precisely one TV program, I listen to old music and most of the books I read are not current. I like stuff that stands the test of time.

Stuff like buying the world a Coke.

Dad, Louie, Ferlin, a Bucket, and Music

I like my parents' music. I like it more every day.

I don't know exactly how to explain it, I am no musical scholar. I can only say that the rumbling bass and incessant riffs of my youth have receded into the background and the melodies, rhythms, and the voices (oh, the voices!) of the 1930's and 1940's are more front and center.

I got a Louis Prima CD for my birthday and am having a blast listening to this crazy guy. I was introduced to Prima by my dad. Not formally, of course, but because Dad had one of his albums. I don't remember ever hearing it, but I'm sure the folks listened at one time or another. Lately I've been hearing more of Prima as I listen to a station here that is devoted to this kind of music. Prima is compared to Louis Armstrong and for good reason, I suppose. Prima was a New Orleans guy and you can hear it in the music. Prima was Italian, which I did not know, and when I hear him, sometimes I hear Dean Martin coming out.

Prima's style could be described as frenetic, the album's liner notes say he and his band essentially invented the lounge act. Here, from the Tube of You, is Prima, Keely Smith (at one time married to him), and saxophonist Sam Butera, in all of their glory:

Keely Smith's job, besides her great voice, was to provide a stoic contrast to the antics of Prima and his orchestra - it was all part of the act.

Dad also liked country music and while I dip into that less liberally, there's a quite a bit of it that is growing on me, particularly the sounds of country swing and the rockabilly stuff. Dad went to school with country singer Ferlin Husky, who passed away just a few months ago. During the years when Ferlin was singing in Branson, Mom and Dad would try to go once or twice a year. Ferlin would be talking and ask if anybody there was from home and Dad would raise his hand and Ferlin would say, "Hello, Paul!" and then they'd have a conversation right in front of everybody. Here's Ferlin and Paul a few years earlier:

Ferlin is #20 and Dad is #22. This past July was the 12th anniversary of Dad's home-going and that caused me think about those two guys again.

One time during my childhood, I was in the back yard and for some reason I was talking to Dad about a bucket - either I was looking for one or lost one, or something. Dad grinned and said, "Does it have a hole in it?" I didn't get the reference and tried to explain what I needed and that I hadn't said anything about a hole. He just explained that there was a song about a bucket with a hole in it.

Well sure there was, a Hank Williams song to be exact. A lot of people (Robert Plant and Jimmy Page!) have covered it, but I'll give you Van Morrison, which might be my favorite version.

The Prodigal God, The Text

The place to begin blogging through Timothy Keller's "The Prodigal God" is where he begins, obviously. That place is the text from Luke 15:11-32.

Here it is from the English Standard Version:

And he (Jesus) said, "There was a man who had two sons. And the younger of them said to his father, 'Father, give me the share of property that is coming to me.' And he divided his property between them. Not many day later, the younger son gathered all he had and took a journey into a far country, and there he squandered his property in reckless living. And when he had spent everything, a severe famine arose in that country, and he began to be in need. So he went and hired himself out to one of the citizens of that country, who sent him into his fields to feed pigs. And he was longing to be fed with the pods that the pigs ate, and no one gave him anything.

"But when he came to himself, he said, 'How many of my father's hired servants have more than enough bread, but I perish here with hunger! I will arise and go to my father, and I will say to him, "Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you. I am no longer worthy to be call your son. Treat me as one of your hired servants.'" And he arose and came to his father. But while he was still a long way off, his father saw him and felt compassion, and ran and embraced him and kissed him. And the son said to him, 'Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you. I am no longer worthy to be called your son.' But the father said to his servants, 'Bring quickly the best robe, and put it on him, and put a ring on his hand, and shoes on his feet. And bring the fattened calf and kill it, and let us eat and celebrate. For this my son was dead, and is alive again; he was lost, and is found.' And they began to celebrate.

"Now his older son was in the field, and as he came and drew near to the house, he heard music and dancing. And he called one of the servants and asked what these things meant. And he said to him, 'Your brother has come, and your father has killed the fattened calf, because he has received him back safe and sound.' But he was angry and refused to go in. His father came out and entreated him, but he answered his father, 'Look, these many years I have served you, and I never disobeyed your command, yet you never gave me a young goat, that I might celebrate with my friends. But when this son of yours came, who has devoured your property with prostitutes, you killed the fattened calf for him!' And he said to him, 'Son, you are always with me, and all that is mine is yours. It was fitting to celebrate and be glad, for this your brother was dead, and is alive; he was lost, and is found.'"

When I think of this story, it reminds me of my dad. Once dad had gone on some church-related "retreat"-like event. When he returned he brought gifts for my younger sister, my brother and me. I don't remember what Patricia got, but David and I were given books. On book was, as you can guess, The Prodigal Son. The other one was David and Goliath. I was standing there when Dad took the books out and I immediately claimed the David and Goliath book. I knew that story and liked it, but I had no idea what the other book was about. Dad said the David and Goliath book was for my brother because I already knew that story. Dad wanted me to have the book about the Prodigal Son. I remember being mildly disappointed, but I received the book he gave me. Soon thereafter I became familiar with the Prodigal Son and was happy to have that book instead of the one I thought I wanted.

My father knew just what to bring me.

The first post in this series.