A Father…..

In this generation men have sure learned how to make babies. Foolish boys in men’s bodies. The onus has always been on the girl, lady or woman. they are the ones who have the long lasting effects of casual sex.

There is also the serious (love fired) sex. At this time, when the young lady says, ‘we made a baby’, it is time to man-up, ready or not and accept responsibility. That is when a man CAN become a father.

Fathers are very important in family life. Not equal to the mother, but close. After all no man knows what it is like, the morning sickness, the feeling that ‘I am not pretty’ (Sherry’s statement) etc, for 9 months, the pain associated with child birth.

A Father knows his children and knows his responsibility to them.

I am so proud of my daddy. I never called him father, but I filled his name in on many forms that asked, ‘FATHERS NAME’. Dad was a preacher, a pastor. Very fundamental. Strict in his beliefs but not a dictator. If Dad had a fault, it was loving his church members too much. He took their cares, family burdens and troubles to heart. Most of my Dad’s salary went back into the church and its members.

At dad’s church there was no: calling the plumber, or any other service until he had exhausted his abilities and anyone he knew who would volunteer. I watched that man, and two church volunteers hand dig a 30’ well. This was a pretty big church and could have afforded to have the well dug, but My Daddy did not believe in wasting God’s money. He (and his family) cleaned the church and cut the grass. He still had time to visit the sick, perform weddings and bury HIS people.

The last church he pastored (That one I even thank God for, because  Sherry was there). The church grew, he designed the remodel job, then pitched in mixing mortar and carrying lumber to save money.

I am saying, I had a great dad. he knew how to handle dynamite (Men who knew him in his early life swore dad could stack boulders by planting the charges in the exact locations.) He was not afraid of work, he could lay block, dig, mix mortar and never felt above being a laborer although he was a full paid Ordained Minister. He raised a hog every year until I was 15 and we were city bound and where he couldn’t.

Dad was not only a great pastor, he was a super dad. I miss him. I wish I could wish him ‘Happy Fathers Day!” (HE would be about 109 yrs old).

Nite Shipslog

PS: If you had known my dad, you would have loved him also. His churches voted for pastors every 2 years, he always got 100% of the vote.

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Fellow pastors advised my dad to move up from the Chevy. “You pastor big churches now, you need a Cadillac” they said. He did buy a 1951 Buick Special.

He never felt right with that Buick. His philosophy was ‘I pastor mostly cotton Mill workers, I should drive what they drive.’ In 1955 he bought a Rambler.

He stayed with Rambler, until Sherry and I traded with him when we got transferred to Cuba.  Leaving him a newer car, we would not need a new car in GITMO.