Memories were served at 80th birthday celebration

Nearly 10 years ago, my wife's family gathered for a major milestone, her dad's 80th birthday. The unspoken message was that this might be the last good opportunity to celebrate the life of the family patriarch. It wasn't. Although he had experienced some fairly serious health problems before the year 2000, he made it almost 10 more years, and the milestones included some graduations and weddings and the births of seven great-grandchildren. It was not until January a year ago that we had to face his mortality head-on. Surgery 14 months ago revealed the cause of some pain he'd had — an aggressive tumor that had already spread beyond his gall bladder into his pancreas and liver. The prognosis was dire, but he accepted it with stoic good humor, with "equanimity," I wrote at the time. A good oncologist and some harsh treatments gave him nearly a full year of relatively good health before the tumor counter-attacked and ultimately prevailed. He died at his home March 24.

But back to that 80th birthday party. The gathering included his wife, brother and sister-in-law, children, sons- and daughter-in-law, stepchildren and grandchildren. Someone suggested that we give him our memories in the form of a scrapbook. A multitude of photographs were made into collages of his life. Several of us, the more verbal and less visual, I suppose, wrote their memories of him.

Here are two of those memories, from my wife, his eldest daughter, and from me, the guy who stole her away from her loving daddy.

“But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness,
faithfulness, gentleness, self-control. . .” Galations 5:22-23

Dear Daddy,

When I think of your influence on my life, I think of the fruit of the Spirit. The love you have given, the joy we see in your face when we’re gathered together, the patience with which you disciplined us, the kindness and goodness that are evident in all that you do, the gentleness with which you held and cared for your grandchildren, the self-control necessary to be a responsible husband, father, and son.
There is no way that I can adequately express how much your example. . .just the way you have lived your life. . .has meant to me.
There are some memories that remain vivid to me.
* You taking me downtown to the shoe store with the little carousel and buying me a pair of black patent leather shoes.
* Going to Howard Johnson’s for lunch and ordering banana splits for dessert. We had to wait while they went to the store and bought the bananas.
* When you came to Beulah’s to tell us that Mary had been born and that she was being named after your grandmother.
* Listening as you read to us from the big green storybook, “My Bookhouse.”
* Being comforted by you when I thought a little wind must mean a hurricane. That was in first grade after Mrs. Cockrell had told us all about Hurricane Hazel.
* When you sang the gasoline song in the car.
* Riding out to Long Island or just going for drives with all the windows down in the red Buick.
* Driving out to the lake after you got off work for a pre-dinner swim and looking at that spot where the house is and saying “Won’t it be great when all we have to do is walk up the hill?”
* Trying to learn a little about golf in the “field” behind the house on Broad Street.
* Sitting in Granny’s living room when Mama was having a rough time and you telling us how she was sick and how much you loved her.
* Having you hand me the keys to the other car after I wrecked the little blue Ford, so that Ann & I could still go get ice cream.
* Finding you waiting for me at the table when I came home from a miserable date with Timmy Moore, wanting to say or do something that would make me less miserable.
* Walking down the aisle with you at my wedding.
* Hearing you say “She’s just beautiful!” when I opened my eyes after Tracy was born.
* How you cared for Granny all of your life and especially after she went to the nursing home.

There are so many more memories, all of them warm and wonderful. I’m so thankful for all of them, and for you.

Happy Birthday!

• • •

In the photo from our wedding, which is sitting on our piano, you have taken off your dark-rim glasses and are wiping tears from your eyes. I can’t say as I blame you.

I had practically stolen away your first-born daughter, your Ginnybird, and I did not have what you would call good “prospects” at the moment. I had no job and few real hopes of getting one on a long-term basis. Although I was madly in love with your daughter (and still am), I had no realistic plan for feeding, clothing and sheltering her. Nevertheless, except for that one brief moment after the ceremony, when sentiment or nostalgia or anxiety overcame your composure, you were unfailingly supportive and cheerful from the moment you welcomed me into the family. And that has been your demeanor throughout these nearly 30 years that have passed so quickly. Your advice, support, assistance and cheerful presence have been constants in our lives.

I have seen that same positive good will exhibited toward the dates of your other children and grandchildren and could only wonder, sometimes, if I had been as unappealing as some of them.

When it was my turn to make a toast at the rehearsal dinner before my eldest daughter’s marriage, I said I wasn’t sure about how to be a father-in-law, but I did have the advantage of a great role model to show me the way. I could not have been more sincere. You have been supportive when we needed a boost, wise when we needed advice, understanding when we stumbled, patient when our desires or youthfulness took over our reasoning, sympathetic when we met troubles, happy at our joys, concerned for our worries and unfailingly positive about our lives and our future.

After 80 years, you greet life with the cheerfulness of a carefree child, although I know your years have been far from carefree. You have never let the tragedies of your life — losing your father, wife, mother and sister — wear you down or embitter you. After such terrible tests, the ordinary adversities of life seem to roll off your back, and I can only admire your resilience, steadfastness and faith. I only wish I could have learned better the lessons your life has to teach and that I could better emulate your great example.

With the greatest respect and admiration, I wish you a happy 80th birthday, and many more to come.