Father's Day, 1990

First published in The Camden Chronicle June 13, 1990

Parker Family 1953
From left, back row: John Moses, Walter, Polly, Jim (author of the blog), JoAnn, Larry
Seated: John Wyly ("Dad") and Bertha Sterling

To the anti-tobacco crowd he would be an ogre and to a clean air freak, he would be a Mount St. Helen's disaster, but my father was one of the few totally honest men I ever met. He didn't rule his home like a dictator or an emperor. His rule was more benevolent, like the Speaker of the House. When possible, all family members had a say in any decisions made. He was a kind, soft-spoken man, seldom raising his voice even when angry. He could usually find some humor in all but the rankest disregard of household rules.

In the daytime during working hours, he either chewed tobacco or dipped snuff. In the evening, he enjoyed filling his pipe with tobacco strong enough to tote a mule across Harmon's Creek. He would lean back in his chair and fill the room with a smoke cloud as thick as fog in the Smoky Mountains.

I saw him cry twice. Once, when he gave my eldest sister to be a wife. In those days, expensive church weddings were out of the question. The loving couple usually went to a nearby marriage parlor in Mississippi, quietly married and that was the extent of the ceremony. After my sister and her betrothed drove away from our house, I saw dad wiping tears. The other time he cried was when my youngest sister was bitten by a rabid dog and he feared for the life of one he loved.

The Director of Life miscast dad for the role he played. Dad was a farmer, but he had no talent or desire for the role. The only natural trait he ever showed around the farm was an affinity with animals. All of his animals loved him. Horses and mules obeyed him like children. Cows would relax and produce more milk when he was around. A certain cow we owned that never missed a chance to impale me on her spike-like horns would snuggle those same horns under my father's arms and croon like a lovesick partridge when he stroked her neck.

Dad died broke. When he realized the end was near, true to form, he called a friend who was a retired funeral director to make arrangements for his last service. It was his way of relieving his wife and children of that unpleasant task. His death was a shock to me. It just seems some people should never die.