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5 minute read
VENDOR WRITING
Father Figure
BY NORMA B.
In a recent article, I wrote about John, who helped me get to a Garth Brooks concert, which was a monumental event for me then. But to be honest, as long as I knew him, he was there for not only the big things in my life, but also the little things too, which as it turns out were just as important. Who knew?
My mother met John around 1971 through her younger brothers Thomas and Mike. They were engaged at some point (I think more than once through the years), but the wedding never actually took place. They just couldn’t get it together as a couple. Still, many times when they went out, I got to go along! (I like to think I prepared the way for the children he would have later — since I came first.)
My first memories of him were at his parents house on Lock 4 road in Gallatin, Tenn. His mom, a retired school teacher, used to babysit me when I was little. In second grade, he listened to me go on and on about my teacher, Miss Mary Harper. I was amazed that this Black woman who had polio and walked with crutches could drive a car — needless to say, she was instrumental in showing me what was possible for people with disabilities like me.
She was also the only teacher that ever paddled me! When I complained about that, John simply reminded me how much “stuff” I got away with, and said I probably did something to deserve it, and he was probably right.
In third grade, I found my true voice when I discovered chorus.
Our first big performance included a couple of Barry Manilow songs. “Can’t Smile Without You” and “I Write The Songs.” Just how many times can you listen to those songs without losing your mind? I’m sure I tested the limit! Of course every time I hit a sour note, I had to start over from the beginning.
After that, chorus tryouts and talent show performances became a regular part of my life, and he heard me practice for each and every one of them over and over again year after year, often providing transportation to and from the shows and yet, he never complained!
Fourth grade was the beginning of my fascination with the spelling bee.
Again, he patiently listened and occasionally corrected me when I made a mistake. Sometimes I’d misspell a word on purpose just to make sure he was paying attention.
Fifth grade brought about yet another unwanted move, still I knew it was bound to happen — I mean, it did pretty much every year I was in school. It was hard, but he made it easier by coming for a visit whenever he could.
When my dad died, I was 15, and John was there for me. He said he wasn’t sure if he belonged there, but I sure was glad he came. It made it easier somehow having him to lean on. He even took me to Stratton’s Dairy Dip (a ‘50s style diner and favorite hang-out in Ashland City until it closed) for a banana split. Sweet!
After my dad died, my tumultuous relationship with my mother became even more strained — and yet somehow John could always calm things down, often playing the part of devil’s advocate/mediator/referee whatever was necessary to settle things down. Unfortunately, that’s a skill I never acquired when it came to my mother.
He was there to help me “celebrate” when I got out of the girls home, TRAC house (Temporary Residence for Adolescents in Crisis), at 17.
At age 18, on the very rainy Wednesday evening of March 12, 1986, he and his two biological children Sara and Jay were some of only a handful of people at my wedding in the banquet hall of Cherokee Resort & Steak House in Lebanon, Tenn. (But that’s a story for another day.)
He was there when both my children Laura and Russell were born — even offering us a ride home to Cottontown if needed.
Like I said, events big or small, he was there for them all!
As is the case with all parental figures, there were times he embarrassed me — still I always secretly wondered/wished he was my dad. I even talked about it with my aunt Betty (my mom’s oldest sister), telling her all the things we had in common: the brown eyes, the bad vision, the fact that we were both loud and obnoxious, etc. But she assured me that it was not possible since they didn’t know each other when I was born in 1968. She said it was just wishful thinking on my part because he’d been such a big part of my life. I guess that makes sense.
Sadly, he died on Oct. 19, 2000, at the age of 46, on his beloved farm in Alexandria, Tenn., and like my biological dad, he too left a void that will never be filled.
At the funeral home, his family pulled me aside and showed me all the pictures he had of me in his wallet. He was a true redneck with a really long wallet on a chain with multiple compartments. They ranged in age from grade school to adulthood right alongside pictures of his own kids and a few other family members, and of course, my mom, proving at least in my mind that I mattered to him as much as they did even though I wasn’t technically “family.” His favorite, a glamour shot of me ‘all grown up’ as he said, was placed in his casket along with other significant photos of family and friends.
It’s funny, my family always said that he had money, (as a pipefitter and proud union member for 26 years that may well have been true), but it was clear to me that that’s NOT what was most important to him, although I’m sure I could’ve asked him for anything and he would’ve gotten it for me if at all possible.
The most important thing about John was that he was a true friend to anyone who needed one, and would help out any way he could, something hard to come by these days. Perhaps even more rare is that he was someone who stepped up to be, “the dad they didn’t have to be.” Brad Paisley has a song about that, and in my case, that was John, even though he and my mom never married.
This is a BIG salute to ALL those who are dads (or moms who serve in any capacity to benefit others — especially children in ways they don’t have to). Thank you SO much for ALL you do!