Hi Dad

I was thinking of you and how much you have always been there for me and how much I love you.

I’m extremely fortunate and I have always felt fortunate. I remember when I was very small, looking up into your face and you were always smiling, and I remember the touch of your hands when you picked me up. I knew from the first childhood memory that I had a father who loved me.

When I got my first hearing aid, I hated it, and I had kicking, screaming fits. But instead of screaming back at me, especially every time my battery died, while I was making everyone knew I was unhappy, mom would run to me and hold me. On the other hand, you dad, would patiently go and pick up my aid, change the battery and make the world come back to me.

What patience you had, what love, and I was such a brat about it. The child in me didn’t see this gesture of love for what it was, but I remembered it always. Now, the man in me can say, “Thank you, Dad” for that loving memory that will be with me forever.

I remember lots of special incidents, like visiting your study at church, where I would discover your arsenal of toys and gadgets that you claimed were used in your practice of calming people that came to you with their problems.

I remember your uncanny ability to repair anything that seemed to dysfunction in the household, from the doorbell, to that boiler we had in the Greenwood house. I don’t ever remember a repairman coming to service anything. In fact, I don’t think I ever knew what a repairman was, as I presumed that life’s journey included maintaining whatever you possessed! Your repairing included my hearing aids. I couldn’t count the ties that you took my aid apart and soldered broken wires that occurred from those aides enduring my active childhood.

I remember your reaction when I went with my best friend to choir practice at the Baptist church! I remember how strong I felt after seeing you in the Pulpit on Sunday mornings. Especially after certain sermons like “Come Before Winter,” “Call Me Chicken,” and “Flowers for the Living.” They have always stuck with me. (And you didn’t think I was listening). Well, you are right. I didn’t listen very well, but I read them from your pulpit notes. Now you know why I always went to get them for you after the service!

I remember the house on River Road as a happy place where I felt like Beaver Cleaver, and I know now that we were happy because you were always busy with projects that Bill and I were often included in, like the train project in the attic, and later the garage, building the boat that later sank in the river, building “Shasta” that really ran well in the Delta flats but had a tough time in the “hills” of Memphis.

I remember creating my own world in the back yard with the refrigerator crates from the local furniture store and stacking two crates together to make a “warship” and making another for my friends. You would get car parts like a steering wheel from the local junk yard so that we would have our pilot house and equipment to complete the make believe world of navy warfare.

I remember gathering all the neighborhood Christmas trees after Christmas and creating a forest that would last till all of the needles came down. And you would somehow get them disposed of so that the backyard would become presentable again.

I remember you were my rock when mom died and we went on a bus trip together, the two of us. I can close my eyes and still relieve that trip.

I remember the joy in your face when you married Ladye Margaret, because you were happy again and I even liked my new siblings!

I remember your sense of humor, which from observing your brothers is an Arnold gene that I hoped I acquired as well. You have always loved telling hyumorous stories, sometimes, to get a point across, other times just for the amusement of the story.

You always took an interest in my world. I remember you would always ask about things and we would talk, and you would listen to me and I knew you cared because I saw the care in your face.

I learned so much from you, Dad. Believe me, I know I’m more patient because of you, and I tell my children I love them, and I hug them because you showed me first how to say and do these things, these very important things.

I have always trusted you and what you say, and I hope one day my children will say the same thing about me. If they do, it’s because you gave me a great outline to follow.

To use illustrations as you do with your sermons, when it comes to you dad, as Lou Rawls sings, “You are onne in a million” or to get with the younger generation as N’Sync sings, “God must have spent a little more time on you.” I know your love comes through because of God’s love in you.