21 years later..

It seems that Father’s Day and his birthday has brought him back to the front of my brain. 

I never really thought it was possible that I would have to live a portion of my life without my dad, but here we are almost 21 years later.

I remember being little and causing the typical mischief. Except for me, typical was practically catastrophic. I think they should’ve called it “Timmy the Menace”, as I definitely gave that runt Dennis a run for his money. Dad was the kind of guy who liked less chaos, more order, and just…don’t be stupid. He liked quiet dinners, your things being put away and in their designated spots, and he liked to “watch” westerns…which means he took a nap. You never knew how you’d find him. Sometimes with his face in the corner of the couch, on the floor with his head in the seat of the chair or sometimes just sitting up with his head bobbing back and forth. He would come into our bedroom at night. Our being myself and my brother, Stephen. We typically shared a room the majority of our childhood. Hell, at one point, all 4 of us were in the master bedroom of a single wide trailer in Lotts Creek, while Mom and Dad had the smaller bedroom. Stephen, being older, more responsible, and more agile, always slept on the top bunk of our BRIGHT ass blue bunkbeds. Well, they said more responsible and more agile, but they knew if my big ass were on the top, and that top bunk fell, he’d be crushed. I have always been bigger, both taller and heavier that my older brother. We could never use “Big Brother” because I looked like I could’ve eaten him. I remember him coming in to say goodnight, but for the two of us, a good schoolin’ was typically warranted. Dad was a big man. He wasn’t very tall, but he was definitely a heavy weight. He would lean on the top bunk, and give us hell. We usually tore something up, or had been fighting. And we most definitely deserved it. I would lay on my bottom bunk, with scotch taped magazine pictures beside of me, and stare at his big belly, and listen to him giving Stephen hell! I would think..how does he carry that around? And how does he get things done..But alas, he always did. He never let his weight discern whether or not he could do something. He was strong. His hands, always so tan from the sun. His left hand because he always had it hanging out the Drivers window. The Right, from the immense amount of fishing he did, He sure loved to fish. Especially when he had a chance to do it alongside his best friend, Wyatt. I remember his hands specifically, because I always wondered what my adult hands would look like. Now, of course, I see that my hands took a different route and are more thin and boney, like my mothers. Sometimes when I do things, my hand movements are stupidly similar to hers. But his hands were huge. His arms, although he was heavier, his arms were total muscle. I remember noticing them when Stephen would do his chin-ups on his biceps. And how his arm never moved, wavered, or weakened. I remember his hands when he would filet his fish. It always amazed me at how nimble and precise his huge hands could be, while holding that filleting knife. He would cut off the thinnest slice of meat, and manage to miss every bone. He was a master at it. Dad stopped going to school after the 8th grade. He managed to make his way through life. He met my mother, who already had two children, fell in love, and would walk miles up left fork to see her and be there for her kids. They eventually married, and had two of there own. He had worked in pool halls (ironically one of them on Main Street in Hazard, that is now the courtyard of the ArtStation), with his size and strength, he was a very effective bouncer at some local bars and then, became a bus driver for the county school system. He did everything he could to bring in money, food, and any type of support needed to make sure his family was provided for. Finding things like filleting fish, wood crafts, automobile repairs, frying said fish, fishing, hunting, and wally-ball, that he was REALLY good at, made him feel more capable. Smarter. Accomplished. And that’s not even mentioning the long list of friends and people who genuinely loved his surprisingly funny sense of humor. “Big T” as he was affectionately known, made lasting impressions on anyone he met. Looking at him, his size, and the scowl he inherited from his mother, you’d never have known that he was quite honestly one of the funniest people I have ever met. He loved when we sang. My mom, and siblings, and I sang all the time. He always said he was gonna get a bus and put us on the road. He would be the manager/bus driver/sound guy, and we could travel all over and make a living from singing. The only time he didn’t like it, was when we would sing at dinner. Dinner was meant to be quiet and enjoyed. I would tempt that as often as I could, to try to break the ol’ man and make him laugh at the table. There were very few times that I was successful. As serious and stern as he could be, he was also always down for a good laugh. When Stephen and I were music students at Morehead State, there were a couple of times the choir tour would be coming through and stopping in Hazard. He wouldn’t stop it unless our family hosted a large group of our friends and choir members. He would stay up til the wee hours of the night, just talking, laughing, and making all of our friends feel welcome. He was an amazing man. Often misunderstood, often intimidating, and often judged because of his weight and appearance. But he was a gentle giant. A man who’s size was more representative of the size of his heart and care for others. A man who always put his needs on the back burner, while ensuring others needs were met first. A man who shouldered a lot of the burdens of our family, but in the end always managed to make it all make sense. 

Twenty one years later I still find myself looking for pieces of him. Sometimes it’s in an old memory that sneaks up on me in June, bookended by Father’s Day and his birthday. Sometimes I find it in the stories we tell, the laughter we still share, or the lessons he taught without ever meaning to. I may not have gotten my fathers hands, his size and stature, or his ability to filet a fish, but I carry pieces of him all the same. It is in the way I care for people, in the way I show up for family and friends, and in the ways I try to find humor in life’s insanity. 

For all the things people may have seen when they looked at him, what I remember most, is the man behind them. A gentle giant, with a generous heart, with a sharp wit, and an unwavering devotion to the people he loved. Time has taken him farther away in years, but not in memory. And if the measure of a man is the impact he leaves on the people who knew him, then my dad is still very much with us. 

The older I get, the more I realize that he never fully left us. He is in the stories we tell, the lessons he taught, the laughter he gave us, and the memories that still come rushing back, all these years later. Twenty one years is a long time to miss someone, but it’s also a long time to appreciate just how much they gave you. He was my dad. My hero, and one of the best men I’ve ever known. As I give just about anything to hear him give Stephen and me hell, just one more time.

I know you’re there and I know you’re proud.

Love you, Dad!

Happy Father’s Day & Happy Birthday out there in the wild blue yonder