HAPPY 100TH BIRTHDAY DAD

Happy birthday dad.  Had you lived you would be 100 today.  Boy, forty years have flown by since you died.  I sure miss you.  I miss all those wonderful moments we had sharing life together.

You would not believe all the changes that have taken place in this world in forty years.  You would have a hard time.  You told me once that my generation did not have any gumption.  All your generation is about gone.  Things are so screwed up and weird.  No days there is no respect for senior adults.  This present generation cannot wait until all the old grey-haired white men are gone and extinct.  People now days cannot tell if they are male or female.

I remember when you would not allow my and brother and me to have long hair.  You told my brothers they could have long hair but with stipulations.  Every Friday they had to wear a dress, slip, panties or pantyhose, high heels, lipstick, makeup, fingernail and toenail polish, and feminine napkins.  Well dad, now boys and men dress that way and women dress like men and society says it is okay.

I remember how you taught us to standup for those that could not defend themselves.  It is unbelievable how many senior adults are mistreated.  You taught us to listen to the wisdom of the old.  You said experience is a good teacher, but learning form the experiences of the elderly is better wisdom.  The mistreatment of children is mindboggling.  There are demonic perverts that kill babies, rape infants, murder small children, kidnap the young and sell their body parts.

I remember you telling us that if we did stand up to be willing to stand alone.  That is truer today than before.  Most people do not want to get involved.  Standing for what is morally and ethically right is a minority.  When my brothers and I stand what is right, bystanders tell us to mind our own business and treat us as the perpetrator.

I remember you taught us to work hard for and honest day’s pay.  There seems to be more people not working than working.  People want more money for doing nothing.  It is hard to find people that want to work and have gainful employment.  You would not government assistance telling us that the government would control too much.  That government that you warned us about is paying people not to work, allowing people to vote that have not right to do so, even dead folks, and making deals with countries like you fought in WWII.  You took us to register for the draft, to register to vote, and fight for those rights.  You taught us: “Our county right or wrong.  When wrong to might it right and when right to keep it right.”

I remember you taught us to say grace when we ate, thank you when people did something for us, excuse me when needed, yes mam, and no sir.  You taught us to take our hats off when at the table to eat.  You taught us that it we dipped it we better eat it and could leave the table until we did.  You taught us to be generous and to share.  You taught how to kill hogs and smoke the meat.  You taught to shoot.  I can just imagine how you would react if the government which you helped fight Germany tried to take away you .22 Remington rifle.  You taught us how to split wood, plant crops, shell corn, drive tractors, and hundreds of other things that people are ignorant of today.

Thanks for everything you taught me dad!  This is my gift for your 100^th birthday.

“Honour thy father and thy mother: that thy days may be long upon the land which the Lord thy God giveth thee.” Exodus 20:12

Thanks Dad

In one of my favorite pictures of my dad, he is leaning against a two by four board holding up the front porch.  Dad did not like to have his picture taken.  On this occasion, his brother was down from Illinois.  Dad had been hauling logs that day and had the smell of pine rosin and sweat mingled with the aroma of Camel cigarette smoke and grease on him.

In this picture, dad is tanned and muscled.  He was very strong from working with pulpwood and logs most of his life.  I, along with my brothers and sister, could not wait for dad to come home in the evenings.  We would spend many evenings lying on an old quit in the front yard just talking about life and looking at the heavens.

I remember that I could not wait to get old enough to go to work in the woods with him.  Back then, pulpwood was measured.  I carried a measuring stick and marked the fallen pine timber as dad cut.  He had a large, and heavy, McCulloch chainsaw.  As a ten-year-old, the chainsaw was very heavy.  It was all I could do to crank it.  When I could not, daddy would give the cord a yank and fire it up.  Ever once in a while, he let me run the chainsaw.  Most dads won’t let a ten-year-old run a chainsaw!  I had the best dad.

When hauling logs, dad allowed me guide the mule that pulled the logs back to the truck.  I was not sure I could do it, but dad said the mule knew what to do once I hooked the tongs to the log.  It was fascinating that the mule could find his way back to the truck.  I would jump on the log and balance myself as the log rolled, twisted, and turned going up and down the hills and hollers back to the truck.  It was even more fun to watch the side loading arms of the log truck throw the logs on the truck.  I don’t think momma would have let me go with daddy if she had known how dangerous it was.

I remember helping dad fall a giant oak.  He bated the tree and I helped to push.  Suddenly as the giant tree started to fall, a gush of wind caught the oak and pushed it back toward us.  Daddy yelled, “Run son!”

As a boy, I wanted to spend as much time with dad as I could.  Dad was what folks back home call a “jackleg mechanic.”  When you are poor and have nothing but junk, you spend a lot of time repairing.  Most of my time was spent under the hood or underneath cars, tractors, and trucks.  This is something I enjoy doing today.  It is therapeutic and nostalgic.

For some reason, dad went most places by himself.  On particular day, he was going to Montevallo to pick up his check.  Momma asked if I wanted to go.  I think she wanted me to spy on dad and see what he was doing.  I knew I had to keep my lips sealed if there was to be another expedition with dad.  I was so excited and could not wait to ride in our log truck with him.

As I went out the door, I closed the door on my fingers.  Doing the natural thing, I pulled them from the closed door, leaving one of my fingernails in the door.  Blood was flying and the finger was throbbing.  I was not going to miss an opportunity to spend time with dad.  I dare not cried.  He would have made me stay home.  I remember sitting alone for what seemed an eternity with my finger throbbing with the beating of my heart.  Dad wanted me to be tough.

Momma taught me how to drive, but daddy let me drive.  Dad went from logging to working in a rock plant.  Our family car became his work vehicle.  As usual, it needed repair another rear axle.  As we started to Bessemer to find a replacement, dad said, “You drive.”  I was twelve. 

On a long hill near Montevallo, I remember being scared to death as we descended.  I looked at dad and he seemed to have confidence in me.  That was until I kept riding too close to the outside of the highway.  Dad told me that there was more room to the inside and stop driving like momma. He said that we would have to have new tires and the front end realigned if I kept running off the road.  Driving in Bessemer was scary and exciting.  I had the time of my life, me driving my daddy.

In her book, Catching Fireflies, Patsy Clairmont says that she read somewhere that we get our role models from our same-sex parent and our sense of safety and security from our opposite same-sex parent.  I don’t know about all that, but I do know that I am glad I had a daddy that loved me and taught me much about life.  I know there are thousands of children that do not have a dad in their lives.  Society is paying a tremendous price for this.  This creates a negative view of God as our Father.  Those that have a nurturing and tender interaction with their dad helps in bonding with our heavenly Father.  Clairmont says that Deuteronomy 32:4, 9-10 gives us a glimpse God’s father-heart.

 

He is the Rock, his work is perfect: for all his ways are judgment: a God of truth and without iniquity, just and right is he.

For the Lord's portion is his people; Jacob is the lot of his inheritance. He found him in a desert land, and in the waste howling wilderness; he led him about, he instructed him, he kept him as the apple of his eye.

 

November is the time for Veteran’s Day and Thanksgiving.  Thanks dad!

A Road Renewed

I had a wonderful dream a moment ago

Aaron and I traveled down a fresh graded dirt road

 

It was beautiful as we held hands and walked

Suddenly he let go as a friend yelled and talked

 

Separated for just a moment by a machine

Aaron was gone and not seen

 

As I looked for him with fear in my heart

Around a beam he came swift as a dart

 

He grabbed for my hand with a look of relief

Falling and losing his candy and chips in temporary grief

 

I cringed in pain as he slammed his small hand on a piece of steel

He gave a sign that he was okay and that the pain was real

 

He looked up with eyes of concern of what I would do

I looked back with eyes that said are you hurt and I love you

 

He picked his candy bar, chips, quickly reaching for me

Together we continued down an old road renewed to see

 

All the things one sees in dreams when he longs for sons away

Smiling as he awakes and remembers that they will be back one day

 

Wonderful dreams from God, a loving Father, during a morning time snooze

Gee, I hope the boys come back for we do not have many days to lose

 

As the story in Luke’s gospel where a father longs for a returning son

Seeing him coming down a road renewed knows a new beginning has begun

 

So, thank you Lord for the visions and dreams of old men

They remind me that old things pass away, and renewed roads begin

 

 

 

Written January 18, 2022, Andy’s 46^th Birthday for Aaron and Andy while they are away from me physically, emotionally, and spiritually.  I know one day that we will walk together again.  bobby e. hopper   

 

 

Thanks Dad

In one of my favorite pictures of my dad, he is leaning against a two by four board holding up the front porch.  Dad did not like to have his picture taken.  On this occasion, his brother was down from Illinois.  Dad had been hauling logs that day and had the smell of pine rosin and sweat mingled with the aroma of Camel cigarette smoke and grease on him.

In this picture, dad is tanned and muscled.  He was very strong from working with pulpwood and logs most of his life.  I, along with my brothers and sister, could not wait for dad to come home in the evenings.  We would spend many evenings lying on an old quit in the front yard just talking about life and looking at the heavens.

I remember that I could not wait to get old enough to go to work in the woods with him.  Back then, pulpwood was measured.  I carried a measuring stick and marked the fallen pine timber as dad cut.  He had a large, and heavy, McCulloch chainsaw.  As a ten-year-old, the chainsaw was very heavy.  It was all I could do to crank it.  When I could not, daddy would give the cord a yank and fire it up.  Ever once in a while, he let me run the chainsaw.  Most dads won’t let a ten-year-old run a chainsaw!  I had the best dad.

When hauling logs, dad allowed me guide the mule that pulled the logs back to the truck.  I was not sure I could do it, but dad said the mule knew what to do once I hooked the tongs to the log.  It was fascinating that the mule could find his way back to the truck.  I would jump on the log and balance myself as the log rolled, twisted, and turned going up and down the hills and hollers back to the truck.  It was even more fun to watch the side loading arms of the log truck throw the logs on the truck.  I don’t think momma would have let me go with daddy if she had known how dangerous it was.

I remember helping dad fall a giant oak.  He bated the tree and I helped to push.  Suddenly as the giant tree started to fall, a gush of wind caught the oak and pushed it back toward us.  Daddy yelled, “Run son!”

As a boy, I wanted to spend as much time with dad as I could.  Dad was what folks back home call a “jackleg mechanic.”  When you are poor and have nothing but junk, you spend a lot of time repairing.  Most of my time was spent under the hood or underneath cars, tractors, and trucks.  This is something I enjoy doing today.  It is therapeutic and nostalgic.

For some reason, dad went most places by himself.  On particular day, he was going to Montevallo to pick up his check.  Momma asked if I wanted to go.  I think she wanted me to spy on dad and see what he was doing.  I knew I had to keep my lips sealed if there was to be another expedition with dad.  I was so excited and could not wait to ride in our log truck with him.

As I went out the door, I closed the door on my fingers.  Doing the natural thing, I yanked them from the closed door, leaving on of my fingernails between the door and the door sill.  Blood was flying and the finger was throbbing.  I was not going to miss an opportunity to spend time with dad.  I dare not cried.  He would have made me stay home.  I remember sitting alone for what seemed an eternity with my finger throbbing with the beating of my heart.  Dad wanted me to be tough.

Momma taught me how to drive, but daddy let me drive.  Dad went from logging to working in a rock plant.  Our family car became his work vehicle.  As usual, it needed repair another rear axle.  As we started to Bessemer, Alabama to find a replacement, dad said, “You drive.”  I was twelve. 

On a long hill near Montevallo, I remember being scared to death as we descended.  I looked at dad and he seemed to have confidence in me.  That was until I kept riding too close to the outside of the highway.  Dad told me that there was more room to the inside and stop driving like momma. He said that we would have to have new tires and the front end realigned if I kept running off the road.  Driving in Bessemer was scary and exciting.  I had the time of my life, me driving my daddy.

In her book, Catching Fireflies, Patsy Clairmont says that she read somewhere that we get our role models from our same-sex parent and our sense of safety and security from our opposite same-sex parent.  I don’t know about all that, but I do know that I am glad I had a daddy that loved me and taught me much about life.  I know there are thousands of children that do not have a dad in their lives.  Society is paying a tremendous price for this.  This creates a negative view of God as our Father.  Those that have a nurturing and tender interaction with their dad helps in bonding with our heavenly Father.  Clairmont says that Deuteronomy 32:4, 9-10 gives us a glimpse God’s father-heart.

 

He is the Rock, his work is perfect: for all his ways are judgment: a God of truth and without iniquity, just and right is he.

For the Lord's portion is his people; Jacob is the lot of his inheritance. He found him in a desert land, and in the waste howling wilderness; he led him about, he instructed him, he kept him as the apple of his eye.

 

November is the time for Veteran’s Day and Thanksgiving.  Thanks dad!