MY DAD

 It is hard to describe my dad. He was about six feet or so. Always wore overalls. He chewed tobacco. Thin "apple," not literal the apple taste,  I don't think. It was a brand name. Get this, he never spit but swallowed the tobacco juice. Just thinking of it makes me nauseous. I never chewed or smoked or my brothers. My dad's thought. I am not letting you start this nasty habit. And, we were tobacco farmers. Go figure. 

There are so many stories I could tell about my dad, it is hard to single out one. One thing I do know, he kept my Mom exasperated seemingly constantly. She would cry, scream, anything at him. He never raised his voice. More likely than not, he would grab me or one of my brothers or several if we were standing around and say, "let's take a ride." The worse he ever said about my mother was, "you know how she is." She would calm down and then not speak to him for days, sometimes weeks. What was so remarkable, he kept talking to her like everything was fine. He had the greatest laugh that was often presence. His best saying was, "you might as well laugh as cry." He practiced it. 

Dad had a heart that literally was as big as the outdoors. He practiced the Augustinian principle and didn't even know it. Saint Augustine said some like, "you cannot help everyone but when you are confronted with one in need, if you can, you are obligated to help." Example, once Dad picked up a hitch hiker who stayed with us for several years until he joined the Navy. Get this: after he retired he came back and moved in beside us. 

 

A memorable experience was my brother, George. He really wasn't my brother but he lived with us all my life. My dad got him from the Orphanage. He was to help us work during the tobacco season. We would pay the orphanage his wages. When Dad was readying to take him back, he ran away. The conditions at the Orphanage were awful Dad said. Kids sleeping on a cold floor. Never enough to eat, raggedy clothes. "This is something out of a Charles Dickins novel," he said. Noway is George going back. The orphanage tried to get him. My mom said "take him back." My dad refused. They had an awful fight. Mom entered her silent mode. The superintendent of the Orphanage came. No. She threatened. They send some strong armed type to physically snatch him. Dad was big into peace but suddenly, he was a different person. He loaded his shotgun and put it by the door.  

What brought the episode to a peaceable  close, however, was not my dad but my Uncle, a notorious bootlegger. He showed up out of the blue and talked to the man from the Orphanage who promptly departed the scene. George never left. We called him our brother. 

A while back, several of my brothers were recalling the incident when my older brother Raz laughed and said, "Did you ever know what Uncle Craven said to the man from the Orphanage?" We didn't. He said, "My brother is determined the boy is not going back. I will pay you a reasonable amount for him." The man said, "No,  I want the boy." Uncle Craven to him. I will kill you then. The man left and George lived with us from that time on.