“Blessed indeed is the man who hears many gentle voices call him father,” Lydia Marie Child. Today is Father’s Day. My three brothers and I lost our daddy on July 8, 1979. He was 56 years old. Had a heart attack sitting at the kitchen table here following a Sunday night family dinner. He was so happy telling us about his garden at the farm then suddenly laid his head down on the kitchen table and his chair broke sending him sprawling to the floor. Vet brother perform CPR till the ambulance came. As the emergency medical technicians wheeled Daddy across the yard to the ambulance his right leg dropped off the stretcher and I realized he was gone.

Sat in the swing pondering on my daddy today. He loved the porch swing and sat many summer nights on the porch till the house got cool. He’d always sit in the swing with his left leg resting in the swing and his right leg on the porch pushing the swing. He only sat in the swing on the right side of the porch. I’d go to bed content and feeling safe as I went to sleep listening to the porch swing squeaking symphony.

I was a lucky girl when the Lord plunked me down in my family on April’s Fool’s Day and Easter Sunday in April of 1956. Two older brothers wanted the Easter bunny to carry me back but I stayed and I think, well, I know, my daddy spoiled me till the day he died. Even when the third brother arrived I managed to keep my crown on. My daddy was an affectionate and loving father but strict and demanded respect. He had a charming smile and a loving hug. Marisol Santiago wrote, “A girl’s first true love is her father.”

Daddy’s obituary describes him as an “outgoing, cheerful, friendly man.” I love that description. I was working at the Roanoke Leader newspaper when he died and read his obituary on the front page thousands of times as I worked on the mailing list. John B. Stevenson, the editor, offered to take over the mailing list duties for me that week, but I would look at my Daddy’s smiling face, as I stamped each paper with an address, remembering the happy times our family shared together.

I’ve been sitting in the swing searching for special memories of him. On our family vacations to Jekyll Island, he’d stand chest deep in the ocean, even though he couldn’t swim, holding baby brother and me on rafts letting us go when a good wave came to ride to shore. Every time we all packed in the car for our summer trip he’d say, “All aboard. Can’t get a board get a plank!” Daddy ate boiled peanuts all the way to Jekyll Island each year, throwing the shells out a crack in the window. I always thought if we got lost we could follow the peanut shells home.

He was probate judge of our county when I took my driver’s license test and told the state trooper, as we walked out of the courthouse together, to be sure and buckle his seat belt and say a prayer. Embarrassed me to death.

In college in one of my graphic design courses we had to construct a six foot kite. I remember he came to pick me up in his pickup truck one weekend and we brought that kite home and flew it off a hill up at the farm. Course it was a short flight and it tore up when it crashed to the ground but he cared enough to help me fly it. And I’ve never forgotten how we looked at each other when it took off into the sky. I was so proud, so was he.

A father cares for his family, protects them, works hard to provide for their needs. My daddy was a wonderful role model for my family. We always felt loved and wanted. Christmas was a special time and he loved it. He’d cut a large cedar tree from the farm each year and we’d decorate it with lights and glass balls and tinsel. I can’t remember him ever putting an ornament on the tree but I see him in my mind sitting in the living room and watching us decorate it. He loved Christmas and Santa Claus always visited us even when we were in college.

He was very tendered hearted. The first time I saw him cry was when my little brother and I were watching Old Yeller. I watched his eyes fill with tears as Old Yeller was killed. He loved to garden and swap seeds with friends. He loved making pickles and relish and canning homemade vegetable soup. Grew popcorn one summer for me to take back to college. Blew the lid off the canner one time canning tomatoes. Made a terrible mess in the kitchen. Daddy could cook popcorn in a large boiler without a lid and was known for his delicious French fries and steaks.

My daddy gave me my love of birds. Lots of Sunday afternoons I would ride to the bottoms with him to check on the cows. He’d count the cows and we’d walk around and talk about and identify the birds we saw. He could whistle various bird calls. Counting the cows made me nervous. If one was missing that usually meant a walk down the railroad tracks looking for the cow. I’d pray that the cow catcher on the front of the train engine had just pushed the cow off the track. Didn’t want to see one that had been run over by the train. Daddy taught me a lesson on most of these trips to the farm. Told me dragon flies were called “snake doctors” and when you saw a dragon fly around a creek you’d usually see a snake. Sure enough, once we saw a beautiful dragon fly and a little later, a small copperhead.

Taught me to walk down the railroad tracks clicking two rocks together to keep the sunbathing snakes away. Did that walk several times when he tried to teach to drive a stick shift. I’d flood the engine, we’d walk home on the tracks clicking our rocks. Taught me not to park with a boyfriend on your own farm roads! That’s a story for another day! Taught me to be sure the farm pasture gate was securely shut. Taught me how to safely load and shoot a .410 shotgun. Taught me to not be afraid of cows. And told me to never get between a cow and her new calf. Watched daddy run once and jump in the back of the truck when the mother cow got after him. Those were treasured days for just the two of us. Og Mandino writes, “The greatest legacy we can leave our children is happy memories.” And I’m so grateful for my memories.

Daddy loved his grandchildren and was happiest with his family around him. The night he died, all of his children were here at home. I miss him so much. He’d be so proud of my little vegetable garden under the sunroom windows and would be thrilled with all his children and grandchildren and great-grandchildren gathering here in our family home for Christmas celebrations.

I know he’s here in spirit. Happy Father’s Day, Daddy!

“She did not stand alone, but what stood behind her, the most potent moral force in her life, was the love of her father.” — Harper Lee