My
Dad was always a home town boy and all his life went back to the little town of
Liberal, Missouri on a regular basis. He seemed to know everyone in town. He
left from there to serve his country during WWII. He started his married life
from there. Most of his family was still in the area. I had grown up used to
making weekend trips to see both sets of grandparents, thinking even then how
lucky I was to have all of them in the same home town along with a few aunts, uncles
and cousins as well.
I
carry a lot of memories about Liberal.
When
I was a young boy Dad and Granddad would take me for a walk. Granddad on one side
smoking his pipe, Dad on the other with me a tow-headed boy in between holding
their callused hands. All I needed was a slingshot stuck in my pocket and we
would have made a Norman Rockwell painting.
In
reality I was just cover, an excuse to leave the house so that they could go to
the pool hall over on Main Street. For me it was a wonderland. I would stand by
the pool table staring up at those big schooners of golden liquid. Sometimes I
would even be given a sip! At times I would go and watch Granddad and the other
older men play dominoes or checkers. These were serious games and played fast
from years of experience and perfection.
Now,
what kind of dad takes a boy that young to a pool hall? What kind of business
lets a youngster of tender age come inside? Well, I was Homer’s boy and it was
a different place and time. He was also the kind of dad and man that would find
Jesus in later years and give his son the opportunity to find him as well. (But
that’s another story.) He taught respect and life’s lessons by example and
showed that life is what you make of it.
One
of our trips in our adult years was to attend the funeral of Mom’s mother.
After the funeral Dad rode back home with me. I have forgotten the reason there
were just the two of us. He started telling me a story about Liberal.
He
told me that the last few times that he went to Liberal there was a young boy
in white overalls following him around.
He saw the boy at all his old favorite places to play. He said that the boy would hide behind trees,
jump fences, etc.
I
noticed that he seemed to be deep in thought while he was telling me about the
boy. I told him that it wasn’t too
surprising for him to be seeing a boy doing the same kinds of things that he
did because Liberal is a pretty small town and that he shouldn’t worry about
the boy following him around.
Dad
was quiet for a long time before he said, “You don’t understand, Son. That boy I’m seeing is me.”
I
didn’t think yet that he was being literal but just to make sure I queried,
“You mean he looks like you?”
“No,
son. I mean the boy is me.”
We
just kind of let that hang there. Dad
was absolutely not given to say things like that.
The
next thing he said to me I will always remember. He said, “Son, if something happens to me I
want to be buried in Liberal. I don’t
care what you have to do to get me there.
Drive me down sitting in the seat beside you if you have to but get me
to Liberal.”
I
told him I would. The call to return
home can be powerful.
Two
weeks after getting back home I received one of those calls in the morning at
work that you never want to get. The foreman came out on the shop floor to the
machine that I was working on and told me that my dad had been taken to the
hospital. He had had another heart attack. That was all the information that he
had.
Afterwards
I learned that his attack occurred at the little self-service laundry that he
and Mom owned. He had been working on
one of the washing machines, stopped, took a nitro pill and hopped up on one of
the folding tables and sat there swinging his legs. I had seen him do that a hundred times when
his heart would bother him. Only this time he just laid over.
He
had had a couple of heart attacks and finally couldn’t go back to work. My folks bought the laundry to keep him from
driving the rest of us crazy. He had
worked hard all of his life and just sitting around was just not in his game
plan.
I
don’t even remember running to the parking lot, jumping into the car and taking
off. The first thing I remember is that I was heading for the hospital as fast
as the car would go. The road into town had a section where it abruptly dropped
to a lower level. When I hit that section I went airborne. All wheels off the
ground.
Time
seemed to stand still and to this days words are inadequate to explain what took
place. It was like a wind blew through every fiber of my being. It was like I
was seeing a star-filled night sky and being pulled into it but not. It was a
powerful communication. It’s hard to describe. There were no words spoken but
rather they were understood. I was told that Dad was gone and to slow down.
There was a glimpse of vastness and a kind of light beyond my comprehension
around that voice. It was a calm presence.
Then
the wheels touched down and I was back to a very fast reality. The rest of my
trip to the hospital was at a more sedate speed. I arrived at the hospital and
was taken right to a small waiting room. Most of my family was already there.
Mom
looked at me and said, “Your Dad is gone.”
I replied, “I know, Mom.” The
chaplain said, “Now we don’t know that yet; they’re still working on him.” The chaplain left and came back after a while
with the official news that Dad didn’t make it. They gave us some time with him
before we left.
We
were home that afternoon and Mom was trying to figure out what to do. I discovered that even with Dad having
serious heart problems for such a long time they had never talked about final
arrangements. I said, “We’ll bury him in
Liberal,” and told her of my conversation with Dad a couple of weeks prior.
So,
just as he wanted, we took Dad home to his beloved town and laid him to rest
surrounded by his history, secure in the faith of a life well lived.