I probably have had a few readers wondering when is he ever going to recognize his Dad? As I have mentioned in prior posts, the order of the men I have written about are in chronological order. I chose this particular post to tell you about my dad. Part of the reason for now is that I have just graduated from High School and at a way too young age I also was married the same year. So basically I finished high school and married and left home later in 1969. Dad had done about all he could in shaping me as a man, or so I thought. The real truth is that even today he continues to influence. Dad is now 83 and I am 60.
I am not trying in anyway to gloss over our relationship. It has not always been the perfect father/son friendship or relationship. I think part of this was because it was life and we both were and are imperfect beings. I have thought a lot about dad and where we were and where we are today. As a young teenager, I once told dad that I dreaded seeing him walk in the door each evening because he was always negative and always finding fault in me. The truth is that I probably deserved the criticism and dad was there to dish it out. Even though it has been over forty years since I made that statement to dad, I can still remember the sadness in dad's eyes when I told him that I dreaded seeing him walk in the door each night. That was a truly callus thing to say and dad, if I haven't asked for your forgiveness, I ask you now to forgive me.
Many years have passed since that happened and I fast forward to the past few weeks. For the first time in our lives, dad and I talk every week via phone. Neither one of us can travel with ease due to our illnesses, etc. What I have noticed that when we get on the phone, our conversations have grown in the length of time that we simply just want to talk. The subject matter is not always about my cancer or his various ailments. Sometimes it is about our beloved Razorbacks or the latest things happening in my old home town. Dad keeps me posted about our family in Arkansas and I keep him informed about his grandchildren and great grandchildren. I guess that this awful cancer has done more to heal our relationship than any other thing.
So how do you come up with all the ways that your dad influenced your life? There is not a list of items to check off. Dad was never an extroverted person. He kept everything to himself and did not open up to folks about how he really felt. So my thoughts are that dad let his life do the talking. He is a man of integrity. He is honest to the core. I remember the last few years of my mom's life. It was a time of trials everyday in how to care for her. Dad did not take her to a nursing home. For the last couple of years, he did hire a couple of ladies to help him in caring for her. He also has some dear sisters who helped him all they could. Dad devoted himself to her care during her last couple of years. He bathed her, lifted her, cooked all of her meals and his life was all about meeting her needs. I don't know that I could have done what he did.
I can remember on more than one occasion that mom would tell me that your dad loves you guys so much but he just can't express that love and you need to know that you and your brother are the most important people in his life. Dad introduced me to the poultry industry and helped me land my first job in that field. I spent twenty years working for the same company that he retired from. I am convinced that dad's superior performance for that company probably helped me get a job I was not qualified for. The people who hired me probably said that if he is anything like his dad, we should hire him. I remember that I thought dad was one of the smartest men in our industry. Every time I would be in a conversation with someone in our company or industry, they always said that my dad was one of the best at what he did. Dad had several hundred people reporting to him in those days and they truly respected him.
There is always so much more that I wish I could fit into this format but you would probably tire from a too lengthy expose. I have not tried to leave out the bad parts and as stated earlier, I was not trying to gloss over our relationship. It was always real, not always pretty, but very real. Dad, I am who I am because you were who you were. My own children probably have some baggage due to my life but when they someday reflect on their dad, I pray they can sort out the good from the bad and that the good will far exceed the bad. Dad, I just want you to know that I am truly thankful that God chose you to be my dad. You and I did not have a perfect relationship, but I think I can say that I am closer to you than ever before. I said at mom's funeral that you were my hero and I still say that same thing today. Thank you for influencing my life in a mighty way and for being my dad. I love you dad and I look forward to those weekly phone calls.
Saturday, May 28, 2011
Sunday, May 15, 2011
Men of Influence Part 5: Grandpa Watkins
This series of writings has been about the men who influenced my life. They are not in order of influence but in chronological order. Today I want to write about my Grandpa Watkins. His given name was Bruce and he was born in 1891. How I wish I could sit down with him today to ask him about his early years, but this cannot be done. I do have a photo of him on the wall of my office and he is pictured with his familiar overalls and is wearing a coonskin cap, tail and all and he is sitting with his favorite dog.
To my knowledge, Grandpa Watkins never learned to drive a car. My mom told me that Grandpa would come home from work and get his shotgun and dog and take off to the woods. This was a walk of five or more miles to reach the woods and the family depended on his efforts in order to have meat to eat. His game might be squirrels or coons and the family was not picky as this was meat on the table during the depression and the war years. I can remember going fishing with Grandpa and we always caught fish for dinner. He would bring in the stringer of fish and drop them in the kitchen sink for my Grandma (bless her heart) to clean and prepare for dinner. To say the least, he was an outdoors man of necessity. I am thankful that he was as I think I inherited my love of all things outdoors from him.
I know that he was a master carpenter and that he helped build Fort Chaffee in Fort Smith Arkansas. He would catch a bus on Monday to Ft. Smith from his home in Stilwell, Oklahoma and he would work all week for about $1.00 per day and return home by bus on Friday night. I don't remember him going to work during the times I spent a week or two in their home, though I am sure he did. He also sharpened tools and saws for a fee. He and Grandma grew a big garden and nothing was wasted. I have his handsaw and a wooden sheath he made to cover the blades. He also was a very talented wood carver. He carved with his pocket knife which was razor sharp. He would hand carve bean flips for us and he would practice with that bean flip all the time. He once carved twelve monkeys from peach seeds and placed them around a table he carved and he said that it was the supreme court.
He and grandma would come to our home in Arkansas and stay a few days with us from time to time. Dad and I would take Grandpa fishing. We always went night fishing for crappie. I can remember that Grandpa would never trust a rod holder. He would hold his rod so that he did not miss a bite. Many nights we would get home around three in the morning and I can remember Grandpa waking me up at seven, saying it was time to go fishing and we would go to a local lake and catfish the whole day. I do not know where he got the energy, but he could last much longer than us without sleep. He simply loved the outdoors.
My dad always loved big cars. He once bought a Chrysler Imperial. It was purple and featured gigantic fins on the back. It was loaded for those days and one feature was a radio that would change stations when you hit a switch in the floor with your foot. Grandpa was riding in the front seat with dad on a trip and dad started changing stations with his foot and continued until Grandpa could no longer take it. He said "Bob, you've got a problem with the radio that you need to get fixed."
There are so many stories I could tell you about Grandpa, but time and space will not allow. I remember one instance when he was cleaning his 12 gauge shotgun in the living room of their home. He was a very safe hunter but for some reason he left a shell in the old gun and as he was beginning to clean the gun it went off and tore the pages of the family Bible and blew the leg off of the coffee table. I don't think my Grandma was too happy.
Grandpa lived to the ripe old age of 85. They said he died because of smoking. He did love his tobacco. He smoked Prince Albert, roll your owns and eventually he switched to a pipe. I confess that I also loved tobacco and I probably came by this love from Grandpa. I can remember smelling that pipe and it smelled like heaven to me.
Grandpa was a good man. He loved kids and he always had time for us. He could tell great stories that would have us all laughing. He was an artist. He could make wood come to life with his little pocket knife. I doubt he received any education after grade school as times were hard as he grew up, but he was as smart a man as I ever met. I am thankful that I knew Grandpa Watkins and that he shared his life with the little children. I was twenty five when he left this earth and I regret now that I did not spend more time with this very talented man. I would urge my readers that even if you are older to seek out an elderly person from whom you may learn. Time on earth is short. I thank my Grandpa Watkins for always having a story for me and always teaching me about the outdoors.
To my knowledge, Grandpa Watkins never learned to drive a car. My mom told me that Grandpa would come home from work and get his shotgun and dog and take off to the woods. This was a walk of five or more miles to reach the woods and the family depended on his efforts in order to have meat to eat. His game might be squirrels or coons and the family was not picky as this was meat on the table during the depression and the war years. I can remember going fishing with Grandpa and we always caught fish for dinner. He would bring in the stringer of fish and drop them in the kitchen sink for my Grandma (bless her heart) to clean and prepare for dinner. To say the least, he was an outdoors man of necessity. I am thankful that he was as I think I inherited my love of all things outdoors from him.
I know that he was a master carpenter and that he helped build Fort Chaffee in Fort Smith Arkansas. He would catch a bus on Monday to Ft. Smith from his home in Stilwell, Oklahoma and he would work all week for about $1.00 per day and return home by bus on Friday night. I don't remember him going to work during the times I spent a week or two in their home, though I am sure he did. He also sharpened tools and saws for a fee. He and Grandma grew a big garden and nothing was wasted. I have his handsaw and a wooden sheath he made to cover the blades. He also was a very talented wood carver. He carved with his pocket knife which was razor sharp. He would hand carve bean flips for us and he would practice with that bean flip all the time. He once carved twelve monkeys from peach seeds and placed them around a table he carved and he said that it was the supreme court.
He and grandma would come to our home in Arkansas and stay a few days with us from time to time. Dad and I would take Grandpa fishing. We always went night fishing for crappie. I can remember that Grandpa would never trust a rod holder. He would hold his rod so that he did not miss a bite. Many nights we would get home around three in the morning and I can remember Grandpa waking me up at seven, saying it was time to go fishing and we would go to a local lake and catfish the whole day. I do not know where he got the energy, but he could last much longer than us without sleep. He simply loved the outdoors.
My dad always loved big cars. He once bought a Chrysler Imperial. It was purple and featured gigantic fins on the back. It was loaded for those days and one feature was a radio that would change stations when you hit a switch in the floor with your foot. Grandpa was riding in the front seat with dad on a trip and dad started changing stations with his foot and continued until Grandpa could no longer take it. He said "Bob, you've got a problem with the radio that you need to get fixed."
There are so many stories I could tell you about Grandpa, but time and space will not allow. I remember one instance when he was cleaning his 12 gauge shotgun in the living room of their home. He was a very safe hunter but for some reason he left a shell in the old gun and as he was beginning to clean the gun it went off and tore the pages of the family Bible and blew the leg off of the coffee table. I don't think my Grandma was too happy.
Grandpa lived to the ripe old age of 85. They said he died because of smoking. He did love his tobacco. He smoked Prince Albert, roll your owns and eventually he switched to a pipe. I confess that I also loved tobacco and I probably came by this love from Grandpa. I can remember smelling that pipe and it smelled like heaven to me.
Grandpa was a good man. He loved kids and he always had time for us. He could tell great stories that would have us all laughing. He was an artist. He could make wood come to life with his little pocket knife. I doubt he received any education after grade school as times were hard as he grew up, but he was as smart a man as I ever met. I am thankful that I knew Grandpa Watkins and that he shared his life with the little children. I was twenty five when he left this earth and I regret now that I did not spend more time with this very talented man. I would urge my readers that even if you are older to seek out an elderly person from whom you may learn. Time on earth is short. I thank my Grandpa Watkins for always having a story for me and always teaching me about the outdoors.
Tuesday, May 10, 2011
Men of Influence, Part 4: My Grandfathers
I am back at work on the blog. Having just spent a few days in the hospital, I had plenty of time to think about this post. As I stated in an earlier post, I am trying to approach this project from a chronological basis. So today, I am in my early teenage years and during this period, both of my grandfathers had passed away, but they both left a stamp on my life. They were really different men and I think this difference really broadened my perspective on life and living.
I will first write about my Grandad Baskin. We called him Grandad to distinguish him from our Grandpa Watkins. We would simply refer to Grandad or Grandpa and everyone knew who we were talking about. I cannot remember my Grandad ever working for a company. I had heard my dad and others talk about him working for a trucking company but I think this was a short lived career. What I can remember is that he always had a farm. This was a small farm by today's standards. He and my grandmother hand milked a few cows and I can remember the dairy picking up a few cans of milk each morning. He also had four or five small chicken houses. These were not automated at all. When we visited the farm we were able to help hand feed the chickens from wheel barrows and hand water via jugs. Later I can remember automatic waterers, only because they would stick and flood the house and we would clean up the mess afterward. Grandad might have an old horse and plenty of yard dogs and cats. I have no idea if he ever made any money in the farming venture. I have my doubts that it was profitable.
Some of the things I remember about Grandad are that he was a hard shell baptist deacon. He would not allow the girls to swim in anything less than jeans and a full blouse. He was always a member of the same church while I was growing up. He must have been held in high esteem as the district missionary would drop by the house just to say hi. His name was Doctor Best. I don't know if he had a doctorate but this is how people referred to him. One day I remember in particular, Duane (Granddad's youngest son) and my brother Steve and I were playing cards around the kitchen table. The game was probably war and was not harmful, morally or otherwise. I heard my grandmother scream at the top of her lungs to get rid of the cards as Doctor Best was pulling in the drive. We did not know what to do so we simply threw the cards in the air and they landed behind the old radio (a huge upright model) and luckily they all fell in behind the radio and out of sight. I always wondered what Doctor Best might have done had he seen the cards? I could imagine him bringing us ten and eleven year old boys before the church for punishment. It was our good fortune not to find out about his wrath.
One of the things we really loved about visiting granddad's house was that on a hot Saturday afternoon, he would load all the kids up and take us to the Blue Hole, our favorite swimming hole. As I write this I can't help but remember the smell of that water. It was clean as I know we swallowed large mouthfuls and I can't recall any of us being sick from the water. After swimming we sometimes dropped by Claude and Zell's grocery store in Tontitown, Arkansas and Grandad would pick up a pound of Dog (Bologna) and Grandmother would normally have a pot of pinto beans ready when we arrived home. That was a great meal and still is today, though I am sure it is enjoyed by few. My kids would run from a pinto bean while I still love them today.
Another thing I really enjoyed was fishing with Grandad in the various creeks and rivers in the area. We fished the Osage, the Illinois River and many other streams or small ponds or lakes. He was not a great angler but gosh we had fun. He would bang on a pipe driven in the ground and up came the earthworms, or we would catch big yellow grasshoppers for bait. Later when I was probably eighteen, I had the pleasure of taking Grandad fishing in my boat and I'll never forget he and I getting caught in a bad storm on the lake. I drove us back through blinding rain and he looked like death warmed over. I don't recall him ever asking me to take him back fishing, though we did catch a really nice string of Crappie that day.
Grandad died of Pancreatic Cancer while in his sixties. I was a teenager and now as I face my own battle with Cancer, I can't help but remember his battle. He was a tough man but at the same time a gentle man. I don't remember him ever showing anyone a lot of affection but you knew he loved you. His generation just did not let anyone know how they felt. I know that He is looking down on me today and his hand is probably extended ready to help me on my journey home when my time on this earth is over. I look forward to seeing Grandad and having a time to remember our time on earth together. I think he gave me some of my backbone that I now use to full advantage in this battle I wage against Cancer. Thanks Grandad, I'll see you in a little while. My next post will be about my Grandpa Watkins. I think you will really enjoy it.
I will first write about my Grandad Baskin. We called him Grandad to distinguish him from our Grandpa Watkins. We would simply refer to Grandad or Grandpa and everyone knew who we were talking about. I cannot remember my Grandad ever working for a company. I had heard my dad and others talk about him working for a trucking company but I think this was a short lived career. What I can remember is that he always had a farm. This was a small farm by today's standards. He and my grandmother hand milked a few cows and I can remember the dairy picking up a few cans of milk each morning. He also had four or five small chicken houses. These were not automated at all. When we visited the farm we were able to help hand feed the chickens from wheel barrows and hand water via jugs. Later I can remember automatic waterers, only because they would stick and flood the house and we would clean up the mess afterward. Grandad might have an old horse and plenty of yard dogs and cats. I have no idea if he ever made any money in the farming venture. I have my doubts that it was profitable.
Some of the things I remember about Grandad are that he was a hard shell baptist deacon. He would not allow the girls to swim in anything less than jeans and a full blouse. He was always a member of the same church while I was growing up. He must have been held in high esteem as the district missionary would drop by the house just to say hi. His name was Doctor Best. I don't know if he had a doctorate but this is how people referred to him. One day I remember in particular, Duane (Granddad's youngest son) and my brother Steve and I were playing cards around the kitchen table. The game was probably war and was not harmful, morally or otherwise. I heard my grandmother scream at the top of her lungs to get rid of the cards as Doctor Best was pulling in the drive. We did not know what to do so we simply threw the cards in the air and they landed behind the old radio (a huge upright model) and luckily they all fell in behind the radio and out of sight. I always wondered what Doctor Best might have done had he seen the cards? I could imagine him bringing us ten and eleven year old boys before the church for punishment. It was our good fortune not to find out about his wrath.
One of the things we really loved about visiting granddad's house was that on a hot Saturday afternoon, he would load all the kids up and take us to the Blue Hole, our favorite swimming hole. As I write this I can't help but remember the smell of that water. It was clean as I know we swallowed large mouthfuls and I can't recall any of us being sick from the water. After swimming we sometimes dropped by Claude and Zell's grocery store in Tontitown, Arkansas and Grandad would pick up a pound of Dog (Bologna) and Grandmother would normally have a pot of pinto beans ready when we arrived home. That was a great meal and still is today, though I am sure it is enjoyed by few. My kids would run from a pinto bean while I still love them today.
Another thing I really enjoyed was fishing with Grandad in the various creeks and rivers in the area. We fished the Osage, the Illinois River and many other streams or small ponds or lakes. He was not a great angler but gosh we had fun. He would bang on a pipe driven in the ground and up came the earthworms, or we would catch big yellow grasshoppers for bait. Later when I was probably eighteen, I had the pleasure of taking Grandad fishing in my boat and I'll never forget he and I getting caught in a bad storm on the lake. I drove us back through blinding rain and he looked like death warmed over. I don't recall him ever asking me to take him back fishing, though we did catch a really nice string of Crappie that day.
Grandad died of Pancreatic Cancer while in his sixties. I was a teenager and now as I face my own battle with Cancer, I can't help but remember his battle. He was a tough man but at the same time a gentle man. I don't remember him ever showing anyone a lot of affection but you knew he loved you. His generation just did not let anyone know how they felt. I know that He is looking down on me today and his hand is probably extended ready to help me on my journey home when my time on this earth is over. I look forward to seeing Grandad and having a time to remember our time on earth together. I think he gave me some of my backbone that I now use to full advantage in this battle I wage against Cancer. Thanks Grandad, I'll see you in a little while. My next post will be about my Grandpa Watkins. I think you will really enjoy it.
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