Part 164 My dad


“Whatever it takes”. I heard these words spoken by my dad often in my life. That was his motto, I guess, for just about everything. He probably thought these words when he was directed to fly the 33 bombing missions over German refineries during World War II when he was only 21. Unable to edge out all the other pilots looking to fly commercial airlines after the war, he went back to college, where he met my mother. After he graduated and married my mom, he soon found employment in the oil business. When his sons were born, he would pick up supplemental work to his primary job for extra income. Eventually he made his way up the company latter, working first in personnel and then as corporate secretary for Texas Eastern Petroleum Company.

My dad was always active in his younger years, always fixing something in the garage. The garage itself was rigged with all kinds of things, like a door opener for the dog or a stereo to listen to while he worked. He had a smaller scooter that he would hop on and give rides to the kids in the neighborhood. At night he and my mother were often entertaining, with people coming over to play bridge or just hang out.

I remember my dad patiently teaching me to drive using a standard shift on the column in an open country field near the house that he grew up in, around East Point, Louisiana. I lurched the car and angrily declared that I couldn’t do it, but he proved me wrong. He was sports fan, who played many sports growing up. He taught me baseball, basketball, and tennis. He taught my brothers and I to play ping pong so well that eventually we beat him. The only sport he never could interest me in was golf; ironically, that sport, along with flying small airplanes, would be his passion throughout life (my dad was known to keep clubs in the trunk of his car in case he could scare up a game, even when traveling out of town).

I am told that my dad was so proud of his children and talked so much about us around others that he would embarrass my mother. He attended to many things, but he prioritized his family.

All was not bliss, though. When I was in college I had many a fight with dad over my long hair (when he said I looked like a girl, my response was to say that I would grow a beard so he could tell the difference).

In later years, I would usually find my dad lounging in his recliner, tapping his glass and asking for more coke. When his memory bailed on him, he would forget he had just been given more to drink and would get ornery when more was not forthcoming. I had to work at concealing my frustration when he would ask me the same questions, sometimes with only a five minute delay.

He was supposed to live here forever, and still be in his prime. That’s what I wanted.