A Father’s Day Wish

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Just in case you need a friendly reminder, Father’s Day is this coming Sunday. Some fathers barely notice the special day while others celebrate it all week long ,and go the extra mile to make sure it receives the proper attention. My father, for example, would send handwritten invitations to members of the family to his Father’s Day celebrations, as well as his birthdays. He was not about to take any chances on anybody being absent, having excuses or failing to wholeheartedly take part in rendering the proper respect and properly gift-wrapped objects on that day. We all knew when his birthday was and when Father’s Day was, but we still enjoyed the custom of the handwritten reminders. My father held high regard for rules and discipline. It was a common joke around the neighborhood about how my brothers and I would be fined if we were late for a meal. So, when the neighbors would see one of us racing through their backyard around dinner or suppertime, they knew we were in danger of losing 25 cents.

My father was born in 1914 and raised in Cordele, Georgia during harsh times that taught the value of careful living with a close eye to frugality and order. He worked from the time he was eight years old at his father’s furniture store. On Saturdays, he sold ice cream on the sidewalk from noon until evening singing his favorite advertising chant, “made in the shade, sold in the sun, if you ain’t got a nickel, you can’t have none”. The failing economy of the 1920s saw the demise of many businesses including that furniture store, and sadly along with it the store’s owner. My father grew up fatherless. At a very early age, he was left with only one parent, but he was not without determination. Like many young men of that depression era, he left school to sign up for the Civilian Conservation Corps to support himself and his mother. Following his return to Cordele, opportunity knocked when his athletic abillity was noticed by a high school coach. Two years later my father was enrolled at Oglethorpe University in Atlanta on a football scholarship. He would make the sports page in the Atlanta Journal almost every Sunday in the fall. Four years later, in June of 1939 he and his college roommate packed up after graduation and drove down to Swainsboro, Georgia and signed a contract to coach at SHS. Coach Larry Slay and Coach Ed Schwabe had college degrees, steady jobs, and room and board at Mrs. Gray’s boarding house on North Main Street. From there, it was coaching jobs in Wrightsville, Metter and then back to Swainsboro following World War II. The best year for my dad came in 1946 when he married my mother, Rebecca Mae Taylor. That was the gold star for him. The three sons that came along later on followed well behind in order of achievement.

Father’s Day brings alive so many stories for every family. We could all write volumes and reminisce without end, and still not do justice to the love, respect and range of emotions that are tied to our fathers. My abilities are not up to the job of capturing the sense or spirit of someone who figures so large in your life. But I can simply say this; for me, my father always was and always will be an unfailing symbol of devotion, a solid rock of strength, and the absolute standard for self-reliance and determination. I appreciate this opportunity to pay a small tribute to my father, and I know on Sunday you will, in your own way, honor your father as well. Happy Father’s Day to all of the fathers out there: new fathers, old fathers, young fathers and all those fathers who will never, ever be forgotten.